


Lost in Hollywood.

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Bisexual Dean, Bottom Castiel, Bottoming from the Top, Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel flirts with everyone, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Blood, Movie references galore, NaNoWriMo, Overprotective Siblings, Slow Build, alcohol consumption, what am I doing with my life, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 82,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is pretty sure that he's got it made. He gets to spend his days on film sets as a production assistant and sure, his job may involve a lot of fetching coffee and saying "yes sir" to complete assholes but hey, it could be worse. All in all, life is pretty darn good.</p><p>And then one day, he arrives on the set of Heavenly Warfare, the adaptation of a best-selling book by some first-time author named Castiel Milton. Mr. Milton is brusque (to put it lightly), wears suits regardless of the temperature and is very, very determined that the film will adapt his novel to the letter. Needless to say, things don't go as planned and as the production gets more and more complicated, Dean gets to know Castiel better and realizes that, underneath the trench coat and perpetual scowl, there's a fascinating person who isn't nearly as ornery as he may seem.</p><p>Still, becoming Castiel's friend?  Well, that process is nearly as complicated as that of making a movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my novel for Nano2013, which means that it is already completed (it's roughly 81K) but it is in severe need of editing. I'm going to try to update twice a week, which should give me plenty of time to edit and make things slightly more coherent. 
> 
> P.S: The title of the story comes from Lost in Hollywood by System of a Down and the title of this chapter comes from the song Ramblin' Man.

Dean Winchester was a man of simple tastes. He liked beer, classic rock, the 1967 Chevy Impala that he'd inherited from his father and food, preferably of the high-calorie, meat filled kind. He liked beautiful women and men, Kurt Vonnegut and sleeping in on his days off and, generally, it was fairly easy to satisfy most of these tastes on any given day. However, sleeping in was becoming harder and harder to achieve and when Dean woke up to his phone ringing at six o'clock in the morning, he knew that his chances of sleeping in were shot all to hell. 

Sometimes, he _really_ hated his job. Admittedly, for a handful of seconds (or two rings, depending on what you were using to measure), he considered letting the phone go straight to voicemail. It'd been a late night and his tongue was thick with a hangover and he felt like another six hours of sleep was needed to cure it. But there was only person who would be calling him so damn early and if he didn't answer his uncle Bobby's call, he knew that Bobby would just show up and drag him out of bed anyways, probably with the use of some gruff words and some strategically placed cold water. 

Answering the phone really was the lesser of two evils. He reached his arm out as far as he could and yanked his phone out of its charger, smothering a yawn in his pillow as he hit the accept call button. 

“Bobby, the hell do you want? Too damn early for this,” he muttered, eyes already falling closed again. 

“Deal with it, princess.” Bobby sounded wide awake and Dean figured that he was already three or four cups of coffee in. “We've got a job to go to.”

“We just finished a job,” Dean groaned and he knew that his voice was dangerously close to becoming a whine but it was the truth. They'd just wrapped a job the night before; the movie they'd both been working on, some crap horror film that was either the fifth or sixth in the franchise, had finished post-production, which was supposed to mean that Dean and Bobby both got some much needed time off. 

No such luck, apparently. 

“Well, got us another one. Some movie called Heavenly Warfare. Their set designer dropped out last minute and guess I was next on the list, which means you need to get your ass out of bed.” Dean groaned and managed to drag himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, sheets still tangled around him. 

“Fine. When's the call time?” 

“Seven thirty. We're gonna be working on Stage C. Now take a Tylenol, deal with your hangover like a big boy and get your ass to work.” Before Dean could get a word in, he was met with the dial tone and he dropped the phone down onto his nightstand, running a hand through his hair. It was stuck up in all different directions and he could still smell alcohol on his skin and he was pretty sure that he had no Tylenol in his medicine cabinet. He groaned again and stumbled into the kitchen to set up a pot of hot coffee while he was in the shower. 

It was going to be a very long day.

***

Although his head was still pounding and he still felt like he needed to sleep for a few more hours (or maybe a day if he was being honest), Dean had to admit that there was a plus side to having to be at the studio so goddamn early. Traffic in Los Angeles was always a pain in the ass but at six thirty in the morning, it was nearly tolerable. He managed to make it to the studio's grounds with only one near accident and, with a quick flash of his identification, he was inside. Headache or not, he had to admit, it felt nice to be back at work.

In addition to sex, food and beer, Dean Winchester loved movies. He'd had an obsession with them from the time he was young, when they'd served as his babysitter when his dad had been busy on long hauling trips. As he'd gotten older, he'd really learned how to appreciate them, learned how to appreciate the different reactions they could draw out in him and other people. Indeed, showing someone else a film that he truly enjoyed was something he always loved to do. While it was always nice to focus on the movie, to pick up little nuances and goofs he hadn't seen the first (or tenth) time around, it was always fascinating to watch how people reacted when they watched a movie. Everyone had different tells and after making his younger brother Sam watch movies with him constantly from the time he was old enough to comprehend them, Dean was one hundred percent positive that he could tell what Sam was thinking about a movie at any given point, based solely on his facial expression and mannerisms. 

Despite his love for films, however, moving to Los Angeles had never been part of Dean's master plan. Working in the film industry at all hadn't been on his radar. He'd been completely content with just being a passive observer. 

And then there was the accident. On one of his trips across the country, during a massive rainstorm, his dad's trailer had hydroplaned and crashed. Dean had decided against hearing most of the gory details but at the very least, his dad had died instantly. Their mom had already passed away years ago, caught in a house fire that Dean hardly remembered and as far as either he or Sam knew, she didn't have any siblings. With their dad and mom gone, the only surviving relative they had was their father's half-brother, their uncle Bobby. They'd only gotten to visit him once in awhile before the accident but suddenly, just like that, him and Sam were being shipped out to Hollywood to live with their set designer uncle and needless to say, things were a lot different than they had been in Kansas. 

At that point in time, Dean had nothing aside from the clothes on his back, a GED and the Impala that he'd been gifted in his father's will. He was pretty good with cars, knew his way around a gun or two and could tell you definitively which Led Zeppelin album was the best. But formal education? Well, that just wasn't something he'd ever felt the need for. You didn't need to go to college to learn how to fix a car; you sat down with a toolbox until you were covered in grease and knew what the hell you were talking about. 

Thank god for Bobby and his pull around the studio he did most of his work for, or Dean was pretty sure that finding a job would have been a hell of a lot harder, if not impossible.

Speaking of Bobby, his battered pickup truck (that probably worked a hell of a lot better than any of the other cars in the lot) was already parked and Dean quickly snatched the spot right next to it. The humidity was already starting to go through the roof so he started the five minute walk towards the massive domed building known as Stage C. The lot was bustling with activity, like always; someone was wheeling a rack of costumes across the main avenue, there was a drizzle of fake blood on the concrete and a rather convincing zombie was just lurching into Stage A as he walked by.

He heard Stage C before he actually reached it. The sound of hammers and yelling was nearly deafening and even before he rounded the corner of the main drag, he could hear Bobby's gruff voice hollering at someone. Dean pitied the poor suckers who were working with Bobby for the first time; they were in for a hell of a day. 

Stage C was the biggest building on the lot; it was also the biggest building Dean had ever been in. It looked like an old, converted airplane hanger and if he squinted, Dean was pretty sure that he could see the outline of where the original hanger doors had been. If they had ever existed, they'd been replaced with a set of smaller doors that were still big enough to drive three or four cars through. Despite the early hour, dozens of people were milling around, moving in and out, carrying all assortment of things in their arms. Sidestepping a women who was rapidly speaking into her cell phone in what sounded like German, Dean stepped into the vast interior of the building. The roof was cloaked in shadows; most of the overhead lights were still turned off. He followed the direction of Bobby's voice and found him in the middle of the studio, leaning on a wobbly table, building plans at his fingertips. 

“I see you made it,” he grunted before Dean could speak up. A few feet away, where the basic framework of a building stood, somebody dropped something with a loud clang and Bobby yelled a few more creative curse words before turning back to the drawings. 

“What in the hell was Rufus thinking?” he muttered, grabbing a pencil and making a few corrections. 

“Wait, Rufus? You're replacing Rufus?” Dean asked. If Bobby had a professional rivalry with anyone, it was with Rufus Turner. They'd been friends for as long as Dean could remember (and probably before that too) but they were always trying to get each other's jobs. 

“Yep. Some indie company lured him in with a good plot. Rufus never was one for money. Wasn't much one for doing a good job designing a damn building either,” Bobby said, viciously erasing one of his own corrections. It was obvious that Bobby was going to be distracted for quite some time so Dean moved on, heading further into the depth of Stage C to find whoever the hell was in charge of the PA's. 

“Winchester!” Dean couldn't help but mutter _fuck_. He'd been really, really hoping that the rumors he'd heard about Zachariah leaving the business had been true but alas, the man was standing before him, bald and annoying as ever. 

“That's me, sir,” he said, almost gagging on the sir part. “Where do you want me to start today?” 

“Grab your walkie, get your ass over to craft services and pick up a lot of coffee. There's a production meeting starting in the boardroom in ten minutes and they all want coffee. Move!” Dean quickly picked up his walkie-talkie and headset from the table Zachariah was standing at, both marked _PA #1_ and hooked it up while he walked to the other end of the studio, already plotting the quickest way to make it from the craft services table to the boardroom at the back of the building. Despite the early hour, craft services had already put out a huge spread, ranging from typical breakfast foods like bagels and toast to more unconventional fare like cooked shrimp and tiny sandwiches filled with a variety of meats. 

“Bless this studio,” Dean muttered appreciatively, shoving one of the small sandwiches into his mouth before loading up a plastic tray with a number of mugs, Styrofoam cups and the biggest pot of coffee he could find. The final product was quite heavy and more than a little ungainly but this wasn't his first rodeo. It was all about keeping it balanced while simultaneously paying attention to your surroundings so that you didn't trip over a wire or cameraman. 

The boardroom was at the back of the building, surrounded by a warren of other rooms with walls that could easily be put up or taken down depending upon the capacity of people you needed to fit within them. He could hear people talking inside but it was quiet murmuring, more like small talk than anything and he was thankful for that. Walking into a meeting in progress, even if you were bringing coffee, was always a risky move. Carefully balancing the tray on one hand, he knocked once before stepping inside, bumping the door open with his hip so that he could hold the tray with two hands again. 

The meeting seemed to be the typical group of bigwigs and top executives; there were a few producers that Dean recognized and near the end of the table, there was a man who Dean recognized as the director of the movie. He'd seen most of his films the guy had made, had even worked on one or two. He didn't recognize the man sitting beside the director but based on his black suit, trench coat and scowl, he was one of the representatives from one of the companies backing the movie. Those guys were never happy.

And then he saw the blonde haired woman sitting at the middle of the table and tried not to groan. If he'd known that the movie was going to be starring Ruby Cassidy, he thought that he might have considered trying to get work on some other production. It wasn't that Ruby was a terrible actress; of those pretty women that were called 'scream queens,' he thought that she was probably one of the best. However, even if she wasn't a horrible actress, Ruby was a horrible person, through and through and he was pretty sure that she thought the same thing about him.

“Not you again,” she muttered as he placed a mug in front of her and yep, there certainly wasn't any love lost based on the glare she shot him out of the corner of her eye. 

“'Fraid so, princess,” he muttered back, plastering on his biggest fake grin before he moved on. He didn't need the bigwigs seeing how he really felt about their star. He dropped off the rest of the mugs before hightailing it back into the main room of the studio, feeling Ruby's glare burning into his back even after he'd shut the door of the boardroom. Nothing new had come over his walkie yet so he headed back towards where Bobby had been working. The sound of hammers still echoed through the vast space but there was much less yelling and Dean assumed that Bobby had figured out some way of working with Rufus' plans. Sure enough, Bobby was kneeling on the floor with a measuring tape in his hands, pencil stuck in his mouth. 

“Guess who we get to see for the next two months?” Dean asked, crouching beside Bobby, taking a quick glance around for Zachariah. Bobby merely grunted as a reply but as soon as Dean said Ruby's name, the pencil dropped from his mouth and he looked back and forth, probably looking to see whether or not she'd popped up behind him. 

“Great,” he groaned. “Stupid computer couldn't have told me that, could it?” Dean shrugged and stood back up, just in time to hear someone scream close by. He swung his head around to see one of Bobby's construction assistants staring at his leg, where a nail was sticking out of. 

“Oh for Christ's sake!” Bobby growled, all thoughts of Ruby apparently forgotten. The assistant's wound was bleeding fairly profusely, staining the dark denim of his jeans and Dean picked up his walkie, already moving towards the injured man. 

“Zachariah, I've got an injured newbie in set design, he's bleeding pretty bad, I'm going to take him to the hospital. That okay?” 

“ _Fine, whatever. Bring me back a smoothie while you're at it. Strawberry banana, zero fat yogurt, pump of protein._ ” 

“I'll get right on that sir.”

***

The newbie's wound looked a lot worse than it actually was but he didn't seem too aware of that. The entire ride to the hospital, he sat there in silence, staring at the blood soaked fabric of his jeans, looking like he was going to puke more and more with every passing second. Thankfully, Dean managed to get him into the emergency room before he blew chunks all over the Impala and, after a quick check to make sure that no blood had soaked through the towel he'd put down, he tore towards the nearest smoothie shop.

By the time he got back to the lot, he'd lost his prime parking spot and Zachariah was bitching at him over the radio, asking where his smoothie was. Thankfully, he shut up the instant that Dean practically shoved it into his hands and before the bald headed man could give him another order, Dean made himself scarce, hitting up the food table.

The suited man that he'd seen at the morning meeting was sitting in a chair off to one side, staring down at a cell phone with the most confused expression Dean had ever witnessed. Dean could understand the expression to some extent; he hadn't seen anyone use a flip phone in _years_. He was certain that no company rep would ever let something so obsolete touch him, let alone actually use one. But if he wasn't a company rep, who the hell was the guy?

He left the mystery man poking at his cell phone and headed back over to where Bobby was revising the plans once again, cursing under his breath, his assistants presumably gone for lunch. There were a few drops of blood on the concrete floor and Dean scratched at them with his boots while he stuck another mini-sandwich in his mouth. 

“What are you building?” he asked, licking barbeque sauce off of his fingers. 

“Supposed to be the inside of a house,” Bobby said, standing up straight and plucking a sandwich off of Dean's plate. “Like a farmhouse. Don't think Rufus has ever been inside one in his goddamned life based off this.” Dean knew that if Bobby got on the topic of Rufus again, he'd ramble about it right through lunch so he changed the subject as soon as he could. 

“Who's the guy in the trench coat that's hanging around?” he asked. Bobby took a moment to mull the question over. 

“The guy with the suit? Looks likes someone spat in his drink?” Dean nodded and Bobby shook his head in the manner that Dean knew meant _dumbass_ , grabbing another sandwich off Dean's plate.

“He's the guy who wrote the book.” Dean had no idea what Bobby was talking about. “The one this movie is going to be based on? Sold somethin' like a million copies? You that much of an idjit?”

“Bobby, when have you ever seen me pay attention to best selling books?”

“I suppose. I ain't got time to give you the full spiel on the guy. Put that laptop of yours to use.”

The rest of the day went by relatively uneventful, aside from Zachariah bitching about how his smoothie was too warm. Dean managed to slip out around five and head back to his apartment, where he did what Bobby suggested and booted up his laptop, typing _Heavenly Warfare_ into the search bar on his browser. The first link was about the film adaptation and he skimmed over that, instead clicking on a Wikipedia link about the book. 

It sounded like pretty unconventional fare; for starters, it focused on a war between demons and angels. Sure, there had been a few big movies in the last year that had dealt with religious themes (none that he'd worked on personally) but they were usually a tough sell unless they had a horror angle going on. This, however, seemed to have none of that. Based on the synopsis, it had more of a military vibe than anything. He stopped scrolling before the synopsis gave away the ending, decided not to look at the list of characters and instead clicked on the link to the author's article. 

The article on Castiel Milton was a stub, no longer than four hundred words. There was almost no information on his personal life and by the time Dean read it twice, he knew only a little bit more than he had previously. _Heavenly Warfare_ was Milton's first published novel, he hardly ever did interviews and he was somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty-two; apparently, no one had been able to get a straight answer out of him. The article did mention that he had one known sister, Anna, who performed most of his press duties for him and acted as his agent and publicist. Under the heading of Upcoming Projects, there were two lines of information that made Dean groan. 

_Milton supervised the scriptwriting for the film based on his debut novel and will be an on-set consultant as well._

That was it; no information on any other upcoming novels, not even a damn picture of the guy. Nonetheless, Dean knew that they were in for a doozy of a production. Lots of authors just sold the adaptation rights for their book and then washed their hands of the whole thing. This Castiel, on the other hand, seemed like he was going to rule the production with an iron fist, which meant that everyone else was going to be bitchy, which in turn was going to make Dean's job harder. Nonetheless, he backed up to the results page, clicked on the book's page on the website of an online retailer and ordered the novel. 

If it was going to make his life a living hell for the next few months, he figured that reading the thing was probably a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have definitely taken a few liberties with how film production works and what various jobs may entail but overall, I'd tried to have some semblance of realism, even if it's just a grain of it. xx.


	2. lord, I was born a ramblin' man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has subscribed! I hope you enjoy this chapter. xo.

The next few days passed mostly without incidence. Rehearsals were well under way between the actors, which meant that Dean hardly ever saw Ruby, which was always a bonus. Bobby was knee deep in lumber and sawdust so, as a way to fill the scarce moments where he had nothing to do, Dean started to pay more attention to Mr. Milton. The man was on set every day, without exception. He popped up everywhere but his favorite spot seemed to be where Dean had seen him fiddling with his flip phone, just beside the craft services table. 

That was where he was sitting when Dean decided to talk to him, just for the hell of it. Why not? If the guy was a complete dick and got him fired for just saying hi, Dean would just find another production to work on. With Bobby's influence, he'd probably just get shifted over to Stage A, where they were doing the interior shots for a low-budget zombie film. 

He tried to figure out the best way to approach the man. Mr. Milton was staring at his phone again but he looked slightly less confused; his thumbs slowly poked at the buttons but it was better than the non-movement that had been happening only days before. Grabbing a cookie from the food table, Dean slid around so that he was standing in front of the man. Remarkably, despite the fact that he was wrapped up in his beige trench coat and dark suit (like always), there was no sign of sweat on his face. 

“Mr. Milton?” He looked up from his phone, face still contorted in a frown and holy crap, Dean had seen actors use contact lenses in an attempt to make their eyes half as blue as this guy's were. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, voice far deeper than Dean had expected. Taken aback, it took him a second to remember what the point of initiating conversation was. 

Right, there hadn't been much of a point. 

“Um, I'm Dean Winchester,” he said, clearing his throat, suddenly feeling very stupid. “I'm, I'm a PA so I just wanted to say that if there's ever anything I could get you, just, um, well, you know where I'll be.” Dean's brain immediately started ridiculing him for how ridiculous he'd sounded and as a result, he missed the first part of Mr. Milton's response. 

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked once he clued in to the fact that the gravelly voice had been directed at him. 

“I said that I do not know where you'll be. You never told me.” The statement left Dean flabbergasted and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to search for a response to the completely unexpected words. 

“Oh, uh... it's an expression,” he muttered. Mr. Milton tilted his head, brow furrowing with confusion and Dean shook his head, plastering on the megawatt smile he used when talking to someone in a position of authority.

“Anyways, if you see me anywhere around the set and you need something, feel free to ask. Okay?” Mr. Milton smiled as well but it was a closed-mouthed action, obviously unpracticed. 

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester. I'll remember that.”

Dean was pretty sure that he hadn't had anyone call him Mr. Winchester in ages. He'd never been much of a mister person but he had to admit, there was a nice sort of feeling that came with having someone who was much more important to the wider world actually paying you respect. 

Sure, he was a little weird, but he didn't think that this Mr. Milton guy was too bad.

***

After his interaction with Mr. Milton, Dean had two days off, which were spent in rather different fashions. After doing some errands on day one, he ended up at the Roadhouse, the hole in the wall bar that Bobby's wife Ellen owned and looked after. One beer turned to six, six turned to ten and he'd woken up late the next day with a gorgeous man in his bed and a horrendous hangover. The night had been a bit of a blur and he wasn't quite sure that he remembered the guy's name accurately but he kissed him as he left and then took two Tylenol for the massive headache throbbing near his temple.

He wasn't going anywhere any time soon and, seeing as he'd gotten Mr. Milton's book in the mail the day prior, he figured that he might as well spend an hour or two reading it. He cracked the first page just after eleven in the morning and slammed it shut just before four in the afternoon, having read the thing from cover to cover with only a bathroom break in between.

Admittedly, it definitely wasn't what he was used to reading; he generally stuck to Vonnegut, the occasional magazine, something random once in awhile just to add variety. But the book had been _good_. Castiel (scratch that, Mr. Milton) wrote in a way that was fairly straight forward yet revealed so much at the same time. He rarely wasted space on elaborate similes or analogies, because he hadn't had to. Beyond that, the story was unlike anything he'd ever read. Even if he didn't include the whole military take on Heaven, he'd never read another book with such a goddamn _bleak_ ending. Sure, the angels may have been a tad unlikable (and Dean may have thought that the demons were pretty damn cool) but at the end of the day, having Hell win went against anything he'd ever expected. 

Needless to say, he could definitely tell why the studio had wanted to adapt it. He did another quick search once he finished the book and aside from selling a huge amount of copies, it had also raised a lot of controversy and controversy always meant money. 

The next day, he planned on telling Mr. Milton that he'd really enjoyed the book but that quickly got forgotten. The mood on set seemed even more hostile than usual and in between fetching some nails for Bobby from the set designer in Stage A and wheeling a rack of clothing across the lot so that Ruby could do some costume tests, he overheard a conversation going on between the director and one of the writers of the film, both of whom were slinging back coffee like it was going out of style near the boardroom. 

“If he's going to be here every fucking day, I might shoot him,” the director muttered, his Scottish accent laced with venom. 

“I might beat you to it,” the writer replied, taking another huge gulp of coffee. When he pulled his mug away, a thin dribble of liquid dripped from the corner of his mouth. His hands were visibly shaking. “Every draft we give him, he tears it apart. We could type up the fucking book word for word and give it to him and he'd _still_ fucking tear it apart.” 

“He's creepy too,” the director replied and from his position just around the corner, Dean couldn't help but snort. It was a pretty big example of the pot calling the kettle black; the movies the guy made were seriously fucked up and the fact that he used Crowley as his professional name was all sorts of weird but then again, people in Hollywood sure had a way of being master hypocrites. 

They weren't the only ones who were saying pretty bad things about the guy; when he wheeled the rack of clothes into the room where Ruby was going to be doing her costume testing, she was right in the middle of a rant to the head of the costume department, her mannerisms all too familiar to Dean, who had seen them in full force on the three previous occasions that he had worked with her. 

“And he says that I certainly _look_ like the character but I'm not _being_ the character! Who gives him the goddamn right? I worked my ass off to get here! What the fuck do you want?” she yelled, spinning on her heel so that she was facing Dean. 

“Just doing my job ma'am,” he said, waiting until the other woman turned her back before he glared the best he could at Ruby. Rather than returning the glare, she stalked forward until she was directly in front of him, glowering like someone who had a legitimate vendetta rather than being a spoiled brat. 

“I could make it so that you'd never have another job in this town,” she said quietly, trying her absolute hardest to sound menacing. Dean just chuckled; he'd seen this before, knew that it was just another one of her multiple acts. 

“If you say so, princess,” he said, winking at her before stepping out of arm's reach. “That everything Val?”

“Yep! I'll let you know when you can take them back.” She went back to rifling through the racks, muttering under her breath. 

“Have a good day Ms. Cassidy,” he said loudly, sounding cheery for Val's benefit. 

“Fuck you Winchester,” she hissed but despite that, Dean left with a smile on his face.

***

As the days passed, the studio got busier and busier. Bobby and his team had finished the interior of the farmhouse and had moved on to creating the interior of a church in another corner of Stage C. Ruby hadn't been in the studio for days and aside from Zachariah's annoying requests, things were actually going pretty well.

Then came Friday. 

The actual shooting was due to start on Monday and one last meeting was taking place in the boardroom; from what Dean heard through the grapevine, it was about the script. Mr. Milton still wasn't happy with the damn thing but taking time for rewrites would be a very expensive venture that any and all studios hated to do. The rumors were confirmed when Dean slipped through the door inconspicuously with the customary platter of coffee, only to walk into the middle of an argument that was already going in full swing. The scriptwriter that Dean had overheard bashing Mr. Milton was standing up, leaning on the table, his face glistening with sweat. He was midway through a sentence and based on his eye line, his rant was directed at Castiel who, for his part, looked deceptively calm. Dean had to admit that it was some of the best acting he'd ever seen; if it wasn't for the twitching vein high up his cheek, Mr. Milton would have looked like the picture of stoicism.

“If you're not going to agree with anything we fucking write, why didn't you just write the goddamn thing?” Dean carefully sat a cup of coffee on the table in front of the screenwriter's hand and he immediately scooped it up, gulping it back. His hands were shaking again and in this town, it was impossible to tell if it was because of sleeplessness, too much caffeine or a steady diet of cocaine. Realistically, it was probably all three. 

“I have no experience writing scripts,” Mr. Milton said slowly, his breath coming out of his nose. “It would have been foolish for me to even try.” 

“Y'know what else is foolish? Not letting me and my partner do our fucking jobs!” The rest of the table was completely silent but Dean recognized the looks on their faces; they were waiting, waiting for the ball to drop, waiting for the event that they would recount at every industry party till everyone got sick of it. 

Fucking vultures. 

“If you and your partner were competent, I would gladly let you do your jobs. As is, you don't seem to understand the book. You're missing the themes-” 

“Nobody cares about your themes-”

“ _I care_!” The ball had dropped; Mr. Milton stood up so quickly that his chair crashed to the floor and simultaneously, his palms slammed into the table top with such force that coffee sloshed onto the surface from nearly every cup. The yelled words seemed to echo and for a brief moment, from his position in the corner of the room, still holding onto the tray, Dean was certain that Mr. Milton was going to climb across the table and choke the life out of the screenwriter. 

But then, with a mutter of _incompetent_ , he stormed out of the room, leaving the door open as he left. Dean was pretty sure that it was the first time he'd ever seen so many bigwigs shocked into pure silence. The screenwriter was trembling even harder; the coffee in his mug was sloshing over the edge rapidly and Dean was pretty sure that he was on the verge of going ballistic. So, he quickly slid out of the open door. There was a crash two rooms down and although he knew that intervening was just asking for trouble, he couldn't help it. Setting the empty tray on the floor, he knocked on the door. 

“Mr. Milton? Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, really hoping that the door wasn't going to crash open into his face. There was only stony silence and then, the door slowly creaked open. Mr. Milton's face was tinted red but he looked like he was slowly calming down. There was a table flipped onto its side in the middle of the room, which had obviously been the origin of the loud crash. 

“I could actually use a cup of coffee. Please,” he added. 

“You've got it. I'll be right back.” Dean wasn't sure why he was bothering to help the man; any other PA would have just left him to sulk or destroy the room. But even though he'd been working in the business for three years, he still hadn't lost all of his emotions. He knew that some people just needed their space when they were angry, but some of them needed attention. He wasn't quite sure what Mr. Milton wanted or if he could provide it, but coffee was a good start. 

Rather than venturing back into the boardroom to get the coffee he'd already given to Mr. Milton, he decided to just get a brand new one from the craft services table. By the time he got back, Mr. Milton was sitting on the floor against the wall, hands clasped in front of him. He accepted the coffee gladly but was otherwise silent and Dean couldn't help but feel like he was intruding on a moment that should have been private. 

“You may stay, if you want,” he finally said, just as Dean was considering making up some bullshit excuse and leaving. “Unless you have other things to do, of course.” 

“Actually, it's just about time for my lunch break,” he said. The statement was only partially a lie; technically, he wasn't supposed to go for lunch until one but he'd already brought Zachariah a smoothie, which meant he was in the bald man's good books. He quickly announced over the wire that he was going for lunch and sat down on the floor beside Mr. Milton, who was sipping his coffee slowly and steadily. 

“This is good,” he said after a few moments, setting the mug on the floor. 

“Yeah, it's not bad, for movie coffee. I've had way worse.” Now that wasn't a lie, at all; although everything about the _Beast Man 2_ shoot had been absolutely terrible, the crafts services table had been one of the worst aspects. Just thinking about the bitter, rancid coffee almost gave him flashbacks. 

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked. He wasn't sure why; really, it wasn't any of his business. Hell, being around Mr. Milton at all wasn't really any of his business. The PA's weren't supposed to associate with the stars or the bigwigs unless they were expressly told to; they were simply supposed to say _yes sir_ or _no ma'am_ and fetch coffee. It was a system that they were used to and that no one else had tried to change. Yet (and maybe Dean was just tooting his own horn), Mr. Milton looked much more happy now that he was out of the boardroom. Maybe it was because he was talking to a normal person, he didn't know. 

“Yes. It's just frustrating. This whole town is frustrating.” 

“I assume you're not from around here then?” Dean asked. He completely understood what Mr. Milton meant by referring to LA as frustrating; the traffic sucked, the people were fake and the rent was high. It was certainly no dream. But the tone in his voice went beyond that, like it was all towns that were frustrating. 

“No, I'm not. You?” Dean shook his head. 

“Nope, not originally. Born and raised mostly in Kansas. My baby brother and I moved out here a few years back, after our dad died.” 

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Usually, Dean hated when people said that because they always sounded fake. They said it because it was expected of them, not because they actually meant it. Mr. Milton, on the other hand, sounded one hundred percent genuine and to be honest, Dean wasn't completely sure how to react to it. 

“Thanks,” he finally muttered, staring down at the floor. He was starting to feel uncomfortable so he quickly changed the subject. 

“What about you Where'd you grow up?” Almost as soon as he said the words, he realized that it was a very personal question to ask. If it had been just a normal person, it would have been acceptable but this wasn't just a person off the street; this was a celebrity.

“I was raised in the Order of the Heavenly Father. Have you heard of it?” The name sounded vaguely familiar to Dean but he couldn't quite place it until he remembered a news article he'd glimpsed online only a few weeks back. 

“Wait, isn't that a cult?” Mr. Milton chuckled; as far as Dean could remember, it was the first time he'd ever heard the author laugh and he kind of felt proud that he, a lowly PA, had been the one to bring it out. 

“Well, some people say so. I guess I'm one of those people now. It's not often that I talk about it, however."

“I'm sorry,” Dean said. “I didn't mean to open old wounds or anything.”

“No, it's not that,” Mr. Milton quickly said. “It just seems like that's the only part of my past people seem to care about. Especially those talk show hosts. That's why I have Anna deal with them.” 

“Anna?” The name rang a bell but Dean couldn't quite place it.

“One of my many siblings. The one I'm closest to. She and I left the Order during the same year. She does my interviews for me. Sometimes I think she knows more about my book than I do.” 

“When you say many...” Dean trailed off, hoping that the author would finish the rest of the sentence. 

“Well... somewhere around thirty or so.” Dean actually felt his mouth drop open; he'd heard of people back in the day having ten or twelve kids, but thirty? Was that even possible? He voiced his concerns out loud and Mr. Milton took a large sip of his coffee before responding. 

“Sorry, I should have clarified. Those are all my half-siblings. As for full siblings, I don't really know.” Dean made a mental note to look up the Order when he got back home. 

“Must be quite the family reunion,” he said, wincing as his stomach rumbled. He was quite hungry but he was enjoying the conversation and didn't really want to move. 

“I only see the ones who left the Order,” Mr. Milton said, a tinge of anger (or possibly regret) in his voice. “There's only three of us, me included. The rest I haven't seen in nearly ten years.” Now it was Dean's turn to say sorry and mean it. He knew what it was like to not see your sibling, but not to that extreme. It had been only a month since he'd seen Sam and that was bad enough. Ten years? That was practically unthinkable. 

“Perhaps someday they will come to their senses,” Mr. Milton said, smiling ruefully. “Until then, I can only hope.” He stood up, his trench coat flapping around him and offered Dean a hand up. 

“I suppose I should go back to the boardroom and apologize for my outburst,” he sighed and Dean wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but Mr. Milton sounded a tad reluctant about that. 

“That'll shock them,” he chuckled. “Hardly anybody around here apologizes for anything.” 

“Perhaps one day they too will come to their senses,” Mr. Milton said, echoing his words from earlier. 

“I think a snowball has a better chance in hell,” Dean said, eliciting another one of those rare chuckles from the author. He closed the door behind them. The hallway was silent and the boardroom sounded empty. The meeting had apparently broken up already.

“Suppose I should get back my job too,” he said, trying to remember what he'd glimpsed on the crafts services table when he'd gone to grab coffee for the meeting. 

“May I call you Dean?” The question seemed to come out of left field and Dean had to blink a few times before he felt capable of answering. Truthfully, he kind of liked being referred to as mister but on the other hand, being on first name basis with a best-selling author? That was pretty damn cool too. 

“Of course, Mr. Milton.”

“Please, call me Castiel.” He held out his hand and Dean shook it, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. 

“Nice to meet you, Castiel.”


	3. communication breakdown.

When Dean arrived on set Monday morning, the buzz in the air was almost visible. Everyone was moving even faster than usual, shouting commands and code words into their walkies, trying to get everything perfect so that the first scene could commence at eight AM sharp. Unfortunately, the scene was going to involve Ruby and Dean had a feeling that, however hard he tried to stay away from her, she was going to attempt to make him do whatever she wanted. 

Fuck's sake. 

He'd barely stepped in the doors before he was dashing out again. The thought of giving up his coveted parking spot was rather perturbing but the guy who was in charge of making the fake blood needed three gallons of corn syrup and his guys were too busy to do it. That trip killed an hour and when he got back, the building was almost entirely silent. 

Filming had started. 

After dropping off the corn syrup, he slowly made his way through the maze of Stage C. Much as he hated having to be around Ruby, he always loved watching the creation of the film unfold before him. It was so different than what most people believed, how much more complicated it was. When he finally managed to reach the fringes of the crew, where he had a fairly acceptable view, they were finishing the first set up of scene one. Then there was a hustle and bustle as all the cameras shifted and Ruby's makeup artist touched her up and then they were back at it. 

“ _Winchester_!” The sudden voice in his ear made Dean jump and he slinked back off into the darker reaches of the studio, flicking the switch on his walkie to respond. 

“Yes, sir?” If Zachariah asked him to go fetch him another smoothie, he was going to consider stomping on his walkie. 

“ _What are you doing right now?_ ” 

“I just brought corn syrup back for Greg. Why, what can I do for you?” 

“ _Smoothie. Strawberry banana-_ ”

“Right on it, sir. Son of a bitch,” he muttered once he'd let go of the button on his walkie. 

“Winchester!” This voice was a lot higher than Zachariah's and it was coming from behind his right shoulder. Suddenly, getting Zachariah a smoothie didn't seem like such a bad idea. He turned his head to see Ruby, decked out in a tight leather jacket, high heeled boots and dark jeans, stomping towards him, her makeup artist in hot pursuit. 

“Sorry ma'am, I'm actually about to head out on another job. But I'm sure one of our other PA's will be happy to assist you in any way they can.” Without waiting for her (undoubtedly foul-mouthed) response, he turned on his heel and weaved his way back out into the bright light of day. 

By the time he'd returned, the filming had paused again, for reasons he couldn't perceive at first. Then he heard Ruby's all too familiar screech and Bobby's _very_ familiar holler and he moved across the set as fast as he could, shoving Zachariah's smoothie into his hands without stopping. The bald man didn't seem to even notice; he too was staring towards the show down that was happening in the middle of the set. 

“You're trying to kill me!”

“Not again,” Dean groaned, shoving past a techie who was staring aimlessly.

“I'm not trying to kill you! I didn't even work on that damn set!” 

“They're still your people!” Dean finally burst through the tight circle that had formed around Bobby and Ruby and he grabbed Bobby's arm, dragging him away. 

“Ignore it Bobby, ignore her,” he said, pulling with all his might. Bobby finally stopped being stubborn and let Dean pull him away, Ruby still screeching behind them. He managed to yank the older man back to the crafts services table before Bobby finally pulled away. 

“That woman is _evil_ ,” he said. 

“She's just a spoiled brat,” Dean said, although to be truthful, he completely agreed with Bobby. “What the hell was she even going on about?” 

“It's that damn church set,” he muttered. “I hardly even touched the damn things, that was the newbies. They're the ones who fucked up. Idjits couldn't put a shelf up to save their damn life.”

“So a shelf broke?” 

“Yes, a shelf broke and a trinket shattered but nothing actually hit her!” A loud bell rang overhead, signaling that they were taking a break. “Guess I'll have to go fix that damn shelf now. See you later.” The crew members were starting to stream over from the set, most of them headed towards the food table and Dean quickly took his leave, filling a plate with mini sandwiches as he left.

“ _Winchester!_ ” The first sandwich hadn't even made it to his mouth before Zachariah's voice was coming over the wire again. He groaned and sat it back down on his plate, flicking the button on his walkie. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“ _Mr. Milton needs someone to drive him to the airport to pick up his sister. Do you want to do it or should I get Garth to?_ ” 

“I'll do it, sir. Tell Ca- I mean, tell Mr. Milton that I'll meet him at the doors.” Dean scarfed down his sandwiches as he walked and he got to the doors just as Castiel did, Zachariah on his tail. 

“Hello Dean,” Castiel said, effectively stopping Zachariah mid-sentence. 

“Oh, I see that you've met,” he said, his simpering voice grating on Dean's ears. Zachariah always acted the same way around celebrities; he basically grovelled at their fucking feet and they were usually all too happy to let him lick their shoes. Castiel, on the other hand, seemed borderline annoyed, which was a reaction Dean definitely approved of. 

“That will be all, Mr. Fuller,” he said and although Zachariah kept talking, he was essentially dismissed. Dean was pretty sure that he shouldn't have been getting so much pleasure from seeing Zachariah taken down a notch but he couldn't help but smile. 

“I'll have him back as soon as I can sir,” he said before turning his back and starting the walk to his car. By the time he got back, he was probably going to be parked right by the front gate and he was wondering if it was possible to skip out without Zachariah knowing. 

“ _When you get back, Winchester, I have another job for you so don't take too long._ ” 

“Fuck,” he groaned before realizing he'd said it aloud. Castiel merely chuckled. 

“Mr. Fuller is quite the... interesting man,” he said, matching the speed of his strides with Dean's. 

“If you mean that he's an douchebag, yes he is,” Dean replied.. The main drag of the lot where Stage A and Stage B were situated was awfully quiet; the doors of both of the massive buildings were closed, which meant that there was filming taking place. Somebody whizzed by on a golf cart and the look on Castiel's face was positively hilarious. 

“Are people really that lazy?” he said, eyes following the vehicle down the road. 

“They are here,” Dean said. They reached the main parking lot and the Impala was merely a black blip at least a dozen rows away. 

On second thought, a golf cart didn't sound like such a bad idea.

***

The ride to the airport was conducted in mostly silence. Castiel stared out the window for much of the time, seemingly taking in the sights. Dean tried his very best not to curse at the obscene amount of traffic and tapped his fingers on the wheel to the beat of Back in Black.

Once they reached the airport, Dean led the way to where people disembarked. There were a few people hanging around with homemade signs, names scrawled on them in permanent marker and he couldn't help but snort. He'd only been to the airport a few times, always to pick people up (flying and him did not mix well) but it always surprised him that people actually participated in such a corny gesture. 

The movies really were starting to blend into real life. 

They only had to wait for a few moments before Dean heard someone yell Castiel's name very loudly. Then the man was almost being bowled over by a tall woman with flaming red hair. Once the hug broke, the woman that Dean presumed to be Anna turned and held out her hand to him. 

“Hi, I'm Anna,” she said. “You must be Mr. Winchester.” 

“Please, call me Dean. Wait, how do you know my name?” he asked. Castiel scratched the back of his neck, purposefully staring down at the tiled floor. 

“Castiel mentioned you before. It's nice to meet you.” The family resemblance wasn't too strong, which Dean chalked up to them being only half-siblings, but the way she smiled definitely reminded him of Castiel. She picked her carry-on bag back up but Castiel grabbed her suitcase before she could, seemingly not embarrassed at all about wheeling a giant purple suitcase through LAX. It was pretty admirable, actually. Despite its size, the suitcase fit easily into the massive trunk of the Impala and with that, they were back on the road, Anna in the back seat, Castiel riding shotgun once more. 

“So Anna, where am I dropping you off?” he asked, flicking his eyes up to the rear view mirror. Anna was typing rapidly on her phone, which was one of the fancier models that had come out in the last year, if Dean was correct; apparently she didn't have the same problem with technology that her brother suffered from. 

“Is there any way that you could just bring me back to the studio?” she asked. “I'd like to see the set before I go to my hotel.” 

“Sure, works for me. I can bring you to your hotel when I get off work, if that works for you.” She looked up from her phone for a brief moment and grinned at him. 

“Thanks Dean.” With that, she went back to moving her thumbs like lightning, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Castiel was staring out the window again but after a few moments, he turned away from the sights they'd already driven by and glanced at the radio. 

“What are we listening to?” he asked. Back in Black was playing through once again and Dean leaned over to turn it up a few notches. 

“This is AC/DC, my friend, one of the best bands in the world.” Castiel seemed completely focused on the song; he stared intently at the radio, fingers tapping on his knees, mouth curled up in a tiny smile. Once the song ended, Dean moved to turn the volume back down but Castiel stopped him, his fingers gently tapping the back of Dean's hand. 

“Leave it. It's rather... enjoyable. Very different from what I'm used to.” 

“Don't you dare start singing hymns, Cas,” Anna said from the back seat, finishing another text or email before sliding her phone into the pocket of her dark jeans and leaning forward. “Don't you _dare_.” 

“I didn't plan on it Anna. I think I like AC/DC much better than hymns.” 

Dean had a feeling he shouldn't have been smiling nearly as hard as he was but nevertheless, there was no denying that he was grinning. By the time they got back to the studio, he'd nearly forgotten about Castiel being a best-selling author; he just seemed like a normal man, someone who was experiencing the glitz and trash of Hollywood for the first time. 

“ _Winchester, you back yet?_ ” Dean was starting to think that Zachariah had a camera or a GPS planted on him at all times because it was severely disconcerting that he always knew what Dean was doing. Dean wasn't one to buy into most paranormal stuff; truthfully, he figured that most of it was bullshit but if there was anyone on the planet who could read minds, it was definitely Zachariah. 

“Just brought them back, sir. Now what was the other job you had for me?”

“ _They're short-staffed in Stage B today. Go help them out for the rest of the afternoon, be back here tomorrow._ ” 

“You got it, sir.” He turned to Anna and Castiel, who seemed to be making up for lost time after the relatively quiet car ride. They were talking so swiftly that Dean couldn't identify all of the words as English ones. 

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” he said when there was a second long break in the conversation, “but they're moving me to Stage B for the rest of the day. I'll come find you when I'm done, Anna.” 

“Sounds good.” Dean was pretty sure that her smile could have paralyzed a man and he returned it as best as he could before beginning the walk to Stage B. He recognized some of the people who were working in the slightly smaller building but most of them were strangers. For that matter, he couldn't really tell what kind of movie they were filming; the set looked like a dungeon but the horror elements seemed fairly limited. He didn't get a very good look because the head of the PA's quickly found him and sent him on a multitude of menial, boring jobs that kept him occupied until after five o'clock. 

It had been a long day and it felt nice to turn off his walkie and headset when he walked out of Stage B. He turned the corner to see that Anna was sitting outside the closed doors of Stage C, talking away into her cell phone, seemingly not caring that dust was settling into her jeans. 

“I will be talking about the novel and the film only,” she said as Dean approached. “I will not answer any questions about the Order of the Heavenly Father, are we clear? Thank you so much. I'll see you tomorrow.” She hung up just as Dean reached her outstretched legs, which was just plain good timing. 

“All done for the day?” she asked, putting her phone back in her pocket and clambering up with an unusual amount of grace. 

“Yep. Which hotel are you staying at?”

“The Astoria, I think. Crazy expensive and it isn't even that nice.” 

“Gotta love LA,” Dean said. 

“Gotta love LA,” she echoed. Besides the lack of physical resemblance between the two of them, it amazed Dean how well-adjusted Anna was in comparison to her brother. While they both seemed very sound of mind, she seemed completely at easy with technology, with everything really. 

“Anna, I have to ask,” he said as he walked down the main road for the third time that day, “your brother, he seems to have a bit of problem with technology.” Anna laughed heartily; the noise was so much different than Ruby's laughter. It was filled with amusement and not the cruel kind that he often heard ringing around the set. He didn't know if it was a genetic thing but he was liking the Miltons more and more with every encounter. 

“Yeah, that happens when you live in a cabin in the woods for almost nine years,” she said. “Went from being part of a cult to being almost entirely alone. Pretty crazy transition, right?” Dean nodded; much as he wanted to hear more, wanted to know more about Castiel, he couldn't help but feel like he was intruding. Anna, however, seemed to have no qualms about providing the information (at least to him, if her phone call had been any indication) so he listened as she kept talking. At the very least, it certainly made for a more interesting walk than silence. 

“I visited him once in awhile, maybe every three months or so, but I was only sixteen when I left. I had a lot of catching up to do. He just wanted to be alone. When I actually starting visiting more often, I found out he was writing. I read a copy of the book, sent it to a publisher and bam, here we are, with it being made into a movie.” 

“So I guess I technically have you to thank for having a job right now,” he said, eliciting another burst of laughter from her. 

“I guess you do.” The silence they fell into after that was not an awkward one and Dean actually found it rather enjoyable. It was only when they pulled up to the hotel, paparazzi lingering around outside the door, that Anna spoke up again. 

“Dean,” she said, one hand on the door handle. “I just thought I'd mention... Castiel doesn't think you're incompetent. He hasn't said that about anyone else on that godforsaken production. I just thought you'd like to know.” 

It was a little bit of a roundabout compliment but nonetheless, Dean was pretty sure he grinned like an idiot the entire way home.


	4. we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway american dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who has subscribed/given kudos/read this story so far. I really, really appreciate it. (: I apologize for the shortness of this chapter but it seemed like an appropriate place to end. Next chapter should be up very soon. (:
> 
> Title for this chapter comes from Born to Run, by Bruce Springsteen.

It was late before Dean remembered that he had meant to do some research on the Order of the Heavenly Father. The first few results that popped up on his search engines were news articles and he decided to scroll past them in favor of something that provided more information. There was a brief article on an online encyclopedia and he started there, seeing what he could gleam from the fairly small entry. 

According to what he read, the Order of the Heavenly Father was a small, Christian-based cult that was founded and still based on a communal farm in the northern part of California. Their membership was pretty small; it was estimated at less than seventy, although no one seemed to know the exact number. It sounded like your fairly run of the mill cult (if such a thing existed); there was one main guy, who had a lot of 'wives' and, as a result, had a lot of children. The only thing that really stood out to Dean as completely unique was one sentence near the end of the article. 

_When members turn eighteen, they are given a large tattoo on their back of wings. This is given to show that they are full-fledged members who are ready to either find a wife or husband._

That was certainly interesting information. The idea of Castiel having a tattoo hidden underneath his suit and trench coat would never have occurred to him otherwise and Dean would have been lying if he said he hated the notion. There hadn't been any images to go along with the article so he could only imagine what the actual tattoo looked like.

Scratch that. Letting his imagination run off with that notion wasn't a very good idea at all.

***

For another two weeks, production seemed to go off mostly without a hitch. Ruby threw her normal temper tantrums, Zachariah drank a lot of smoothies, another one of Bobby's construction assistants had to be run to the hospital thanks to a misplaced nail; all in all, it was business as usual. Castiel was on set every day, without fail and although he insisted on watching the filming of almost every shot as it happened, there were still a number of days where Dean managed to spend a few minutes talking to him. The conversations were usually benign and rarely focused on the past and, much as he was tempted to, Dean didn't bring up the tattoo once. Every once in awhile, Castiel would ask Dean about certain aspects of the film making industry and Dean would do his absolute best to give an answer. Occasionally, he would ask Dean to tell him about a production he worked on and Dean was happy to talk about them, with one exception.

_Beast Man 2._

Nonetheless, despite the fact that he deliberately avoided talking about the movie, Castiel still found about it somehow. Although he wasn't entirely certain about it, Dean blamed Bobby. He'd noticed Castiel talking to him on a few occasions and although Lord knew how the damn topic came up in conversation, Dean figured it had to be Bobby who had told Cas about it. The only other viable option was Ruby and Dean was pretty sure that the only time Castiel ever talked to her was when they were filming a scene.

“What was so terrible about the shoot?” Castiel asked. They were sitting in one of the empty boardrooms, on the floor once again but this time, Dean had actually brought a plate of food that they were both picking off of. The question had come out of left field and it took Dean a few moments to comb through the thoughts in his head until he had a coherent response. 

“Everything,” he finally muttered, shoving a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth. “There literally was not one good thing about that shoot. Especially Ruby.” 

“The same Ruby who is in this film?” Dean nodded quickly, scarfing another cookie down. 

“The one and only." 

“She does seem rather hostile to you,” Castiel said thoughtfully, picking up a mini-sandwich and staring at it curiously before popping it into his mouth. 

“Hostile is putting it lightly. She's a frigging tyrant and the more famous she gets, the crazier she gets. I'm just waiting for her damn head to explode.”

“I don't think that's possible.” Dean looked up over his lukewarm cup of coffee and after only a second, Castiel's face sparked with recognition.

“Right, that was an expression, wasn't it?” Dean nodded and Castiel slowly chewed a cookie, looking remarkably thoughtful. 

“I think I'd like to see it,” he finally said, brushing cookie crumbs off of his hands. 

"See what?" 

"Beast Man," Castiel said and Dean spluttered into his coffee. There was no way that Castiel wanted to watch Beast Man 2; nobody liked the damn movie, not even the hardcore horror fans who loved to watch things that were 'so terrible, they're awesome.' Christ, even the studio had hated the movie; they'd halted the franchise in its tracks after the terrible reception the movie got. The dialogue was stilted, the CGI looked like a ten year old had done it and Dean was pretty sure there had been crayons involved in the creation of the sets. The whole thing had been almost bad enough to make Dean quit entirely. 

“It's a terrible movie,” Dean said, trying to get his calm demeanor back. “It's seriously terrible, Cas.” 

“I want to see it.” His voice immediately hardened up, obviously leaving zero room for discussion. 

And that was how Dean found himself sitting in his apartment, reliving the worst shoot of his life, eating slightly burned popcorn with a New York Times best-selling author. Paying attention to the film was basically giving him flashbacks (forcing himself to rent it had been excruciating) so he turned his attention to Castiel instead, watching his reaction like he'd used to watch Sam's. Castiel seemed completely focused on the movie, despite its numerous faults; he was leaning forward, hands clasped between his legs, only moving once in awhile so that he could pluck a single piece of popcorn at a time out of the bowl. There were a few times where his face twitched, generally when something rather gory (and obviously fake) happened or when Ruby's voice got just plain annoying. Otherwise, he was almost completely still. It was rather amazing to behold, actually; his face gave nothing away regarding his actual feelings on the film. 

Nonetheless, when the film was finished and Castiel said _that was awful_ , Dean wasn't one bit surprised.


	5. baby this town rips the bones from your back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay everyone! I just finished my exams on the 16th and now I'm home for a few weeks, which is awesome. I hope you enjoy the next chapter. (:
> 
> Title for this chapter comes from Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen. (:

The next day, everything went to hell. 

Dean got to the set a little later than usual; there had been a car accident that slowed traffic down even more than usual and by the time he got to work, he was already more than a little pissed off. His mood, however, was nothing compared to the collective emotions rampaging across Stage C when he stepped inside. Somebody was screaming, their voice echoing in the vast space and although Dean couldn't immediately pinpoint who the voice belonged to, he knew that it was not a good sign. Nobody really seemed to be doing work; they were all gathered in groups, whispering rapidly, throwing glances around the massive room. Dean found Bobby at the crafts services table, eating breakfast with one of the guys from makeup and he joined their conversation, stealing a bagel for himself. 

“What the hell's happening back there?” he asked. Now that he was standing still, he realized that the yelling was coming from the boardroom and he was fairly sure that it was the twitchy screenwriter bellowing at the top of his lungs. 

“Don't know for sure yet,” Bobby said, “but I'm pretty sure the studio ordered rewrites.”

“They're actually willing to spend money on that?” Dean asked. He'd worked on a few films that could have gone for some extensive rewrites but the studio generally hated to do it, because it always put the production behind schedule and meant that massive amounts of money were lost. 

“Guess so. Have to find some other way to spend my time for a few weeks,” Bobby grumbled, turning back to the makeup guy. Before he could speak, there was a resounding bang and a few moments later, Castiel emerged from the warren of rooms at the back, looking completely and utterly furious. His hair was sticking up madly at the front, like he'd been running his fingers through it repeatedly and his hands were clenched into rigid fists at his sides. He looked absolutely fucking _terrifying_ and even though part of Dean thought that going to help him would be a good idea, the other half really didn't want to end up on the receiving end of those fists. So instead, he let Castiel storm outside, the hollering of the twitchy screenwriter still echoing throughout the building. 

“Well, I guess that answers our question,” Bobby said, finishing off his coffee and tossing his Styrofoam cup in the trash. “Just a matter of how long we'll be twiddling our thumbs for.” 

“Maybe I'll see what Sam's up to this weekend,” Dean said through a mouthful of bagel. “Ain't like I got nothing better to do with my time.” He turned off his walkie and returned it to the PA's table; sure, no one had officially confirmed that production was shutting down yet but it was pretty well guaranteed. The set was starting to get louder and louder, babbling with activity as numerous voices overlapped each other. Eager to get away from the overwhelming noise, Dean stepped outside the door and dialed his brother's number. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Sammy, you're not in class are you?” 

“No, I'm in the library, just give me a minute.” Dean could hear rustling and footsteps on the other end of the line as Sam slipped out of the library. There was a loud crash around the corner and he thought about going to check it out but Sam came back on the line before he could move. 

“So how's the shoot going?” he asked. 

“Well, that's the thing,” Dean said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Shooting just shut down. Rewrites, y'know.” 

“Man, that blows.” Dean knew that he'd complained to Sam about rewrites before; his brother knew just as well as he did how much they sucked. “So what are you gonna do for the next while? Go freelance?”

“Actually, I was thinking, you busy this weekend? It's been awhile Sammy.” 

“I've got some assignments to work on but I can just pull an all-nighter or something to get them done. I'm sure Jess won't mind. You'll have to get a hotel room though, our apartment is too small.”

“Fine by me Sammy. I'll see you Friday night, alright?” 

“Sounds good. Bye jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean replied automatically. It didn't matter how old they got, him and Sam always resorted to the same nicknames they'd had for each other as kids. He hung up just as the loud crash happened again. This time, he did decide to check it out and when he rounded the corner, he found Castiel sitting on the ground, a large dent visible in the metal wall beside his head. His hair looked even more messed up and Dean was pretty sure that if glares could kill, the weed that was blossoming between Castiel's shoes would have withered up and burst into flames. 

“Hey.” Castiel whipped his head around, mouth open as if ready to issue a challenge, but the hostility in his face softened. 

“Hello Dean.” His voice seemed to have dropped even lower than usual and he cleared his throat quickly, his eyes flicking back down to between his feet. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Dean asked, checking to make sure that no one was around before he slid down the side of the building and sat down, arms draped loosely around his knees. 

“Are you asking as a PA?” The first words that came to Dean's mouth were not pleasant ones and he forced them back down. If it had been three years ago, he would have let them fly out, regardless of the consequences but he'd been forced to grow up since then. Besides, he could see that Castiel was just being cautious and considering the treacherous douchebags he'd been forced to deal with, Dean completely understood. 

“No, man, I'm asking you as your friend.” As soon as he said those words, Dean realized that they were potentially as problematic as what his original response would have been. Sure, him and Castiel had eaten lunch together quite a few times and they were on a first name basis and Castiel had been inside his apartment, if only for two hours. In the normal world, Dean knew that that all of the above would have definitely indicated friendship but Hollywood was different. People were superficial here, made and broke connections that seemed fairly deep without breaking a sweat. It wouldn't have been the first time that Dean had been burned by someone that he'd thought was his friend and he felt like kicking himself. 

“Well Dean, as your friend, I can be honest with you and say that no, I'm not alright.” Dean couldn't help but sigh with relief; at least he hadn't put his foot in his mouth. 

“I'm sorry Cas,” he said, reaching out to drop one hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Rewrites fucking blow.” Castiel flicked his eyes sideways towards where Dean's hand was still resting on his shoulder and the corners of his mouth turned up in a very tiny smile. It was nice to see that his rage was slowly starting to ebb away, even if it was being replaced by a lesser form of anger. Dean realized that he'd probably been touching Castiel for far longer than was appropriate and he quickly withdrew his hand back into his lap. 

“You have an interesting way of wording things, but I can't say that I disagree,” he chuckled, returning his gaze back to the little weed between his feet. “I just... I just can't understand these people,” he sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair before fiddling with the button on the wrist of his trench coat.

“I don't think _anyone_ can understand these people,” Dean said, leaning his head back against the metal and closing his eyes against the bright sun. “I've been here for three years and I still don't know what the fuck half the people around here do. If something sounds like a good idea, they do whatever the opposite of that is. They're vultures.” 

“I think more of them should be like you.” Dean opened one eye just wide enough so that he could look at Castiel. He always had a hard time telling if the man was joking but his face had that open honesty that Dean almost never saw on anyone in LA. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, unable to stop himself from laughing a little. Castiel may have been genuine, sure, but Dean still thought that he was just speaking bullshit. 

“You're the only person on this set who actually gives a damn about the movie itself,” Cas said and Dean cracked both of his eyes open in shock. Had Castiel just sworn? “The rest of them, they're all in it for the money. I can see it. It's the reason they want to change the end of my story, so that they can just make more money. But you... you genuinely enjoy films. You care, Dean, and I know that you think you're expendable, but you're not.” Dean was pretty sure that he'd never heard Castiel say so many words all at once and he knew that he was blushing but he couldn't help it. He wasn't used to such praise. His dad had never been a man who was satisfied with his son's accomplishments, he'd always asserted that they could have done better, could have done more. Beyond that, however, the film industry was built around climbing on other people, on tearing them down until you were one step closer to the top. When people gave you compliments, they were always just subtle methods of manipulation. 

He didn't know how to answer. Did he just accept the compliment? Did he try to protest it? He had a feeling that going the latter route wouldn't accomplish anything. When Castiel put his mind to something (even something as stupid as watching Beast Man 2), there was no changing his mind. 

So instead, Dean just opened his mouth and let out a question that had been sitting in the back of his head since he'd ended his phone call with Sam. 

“Cas, have you ever been to Stanford?”


	6. you're all the things I've got to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I just wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas and happy holidays. I hope you enjoy this chapter. xo.
> 
> PS: Title of this chapter comes from Take On Me by A-Ha, which is one of my favorite songs to sing along to. There's a fun fact for you. :P Also, this chapter contains references to three of my favorite movies. There's another fun fact. (:

Dean called Sam back later that night to tell him that he was going to bring along a friend and unsurprisingly, his brother thought it was an awesome idea. If Sam thought it was a great idea though, his girlfriend Jessica's reaction was bordering on the fangirl; Dean had hardly said Castiel's full name into the phone before he could hear Sam being shoved aside. 

“Did you just say Castiel Milton?”

“Why hello to you too Jess,” Dean said, laughing as he took a sip from a cold beer recently liberated from his fridge. “Yes, I did. Why, you like him?”

“Yep. I've read his book two or three times. Did you know that they're talking about teaching it in some first year courses here?”

“Jess, I don't even know if _he_ knows that. He's... well, you'll be surprised when you meet him, I think.”

“Will he sign my book?” Dean laughed again and glanced over at his own copy of the book on his shelf. He'd strategically hidden it when Cas had come over to watch Beast Man 2 (for reasons he couldn't quite sort out in his head) and he made a mental note to chuck it back under the bed before the author came over Thursday night. 

“Sweetheart, I'm sure if you ask him nicely, he'll sign whatever you want him to.” Jessica's laughter was nigh on infectious; he'd only met the girl a few times but he definitely thought that Sam had found himself a keeper. Once he got off the phone, he immediately plucked the hardcover off his shelf and, after a second thought, stashed it in his bedside drawer. Throwing it under the bed seemed a little too callous for his tastes. He was sure that a psychologist would have had a field day with his choice, since his bedside drawer contained his condoms and lube but fuck 'em. He'd never really liked shrinks anyways. 

Including a stop to get gas and lunch, the drive to Stanford was going to be over six hours and Dean always liked trying to get the jump on the morning rush hour traffic, which meant leaving at six in the morning at the latest. His original plan had been to get up super early (or just not sleep at all) and pick up Castiel at the hotel he'd been staying at. However, it had been Castiel who had suggested that him staying the night at Dean's apartment would have simply been easier. 

“Unless that would make you uncomfortable,” he'd quickly said. Dean was still recovering from the initial shock of Castiel accepting his impromptu offer of a road trip, even after a few minutes, so when Castiel came up with that suggestion, it took him a few moments to get his thoughts back into order.

“No, not at all,” he interjected, cutting off another word before it could fully come out of Castiel's mouth. “You're right, that would be quicker. Sounds like a plan.”

Dean spent much of Thursday afternoon cleaning his apartment. It wasn't that it was a mess, really; it was just that between the studio and the Roadhouse, he wasn't really at home a lot. His things were fairly well organized but his dishes had a way of piling up and his jeans ended up on the floor just as often as they ended up in the hamper. He knew that he was probably going way over the top but it just seemed like the right thing to do; sure, Cas had been over before but that had been for all of two hours. He was actually going to be _sleeping_ there and for some reason that he couldn't quite place, that notion kind of scared Dean. Maybe it was because he hardly ever had friends over; everyone he really associated with hung out at the Roadhouse most nights. The only people that really ever slept over were one night stands. It was strange to have someone coming over that he didn't intend on sleeping with. It was an unfamiliar notion that he didn't really know how to deal with. 

So, he treated it like the way he did most of his problems; he shoved it into the back of his mind and pretended that it didn't bother him. 

He buzzed Castiel in just after five and when he answered his door, he couldn't help but laugh. He had a plain black duffel bag slung over one shoulder and was balancing a zippered suit bag and a humongous take out pizza in his arms. To top everything off, there was a huge black slash across his hand that Dean instantly recognized as permanent marker. 

“What happened to you?” he asked, holding the door open so that Cas could squeeze through without dropping anything.

“There was a woman in the pizza parlor,” he muttered and Dean had to try very hard not to laugh at the sheer forlornness in Castiel's voice. “She recognized me. I knew I shouldn't have let Anna take that picture.” Dean assumed that Castiel was referring to his author photo on the back cover of his novel. Dean hadn't paid much mind to it when he'd read the book, although he did remember that it was the only author photo he'd seen where the writer was _scowling._

“So you got attacked by an autograph hound?” Castiel nodded solemnly. “Bunch of savages in this town,” Dean sighed, smiling when the reference went right over Castiel's head. There was another movie he'd have to introduce the author to, some day. Cas was still standing awkwardly in the entryway and Dean grabbed the pizza box from his hands, taking it to the kitchen table. 

“Make yourself at home,” he said when he returned. “You can hang your suit up in the closet, drop your bag wherever. Do you want a beer?” 

“Maybe just some water, for now.” Dean shrugged and grabbed one of his newly clean glasses from the dish rack. He never drank tap water; he thought it tasted disgusting (growing up in Kansas had spoiled him in that respect) but he wasn't going to deny the request. He grabbed a beer for himself and by the time he brought the glass back, Castiel had finally dropped his duffel bag beside the couch and plopped down but he still looked awkward as hell. Like the previous time he'd come over, he was still wearing his trench coat and suit; not even his tie was undone. At the very least, he _had_ kicked off his shoes, which were on the floor, neatly placed so that they were adjacent to the couch. He accepted his water silently and his eyes went to the bookshelf full of DVD's that Dean had beside his television. He was rather proud of his collection; he generally tried to pick up movies only when they were cheap but he'd still managed to accumulate a collection of over three hundred.

“Did you want to watch something?” he asked. He hadn't felt as awkward the first time Castiel had come over but that had been different; that time, they'd had an objective in mind, even if it had been an objective Dean really hadn't wanted to meet. Now, he didn't really know what to do. 

“Could we? I'm not sure what to pick. I trust you to find something for us.”

“Well, you've put your trust in the right guy,” Dean said, setting his beer on his battered coffee table and standing up so that he could survey his shelf better. Every time he looked, he found something that he'd forgotten about and this type was no exception. Sandwiched in between an old-school horror flick he'd picked up somewhere along the line and a nearly worn out copy of the first Star Trek film was a copy of the Adam West Batman movie. His brother had teased him mercilessly when he'd picked it up (“Really Dean? Bat-Shark repellant?”) but no matter what Sammy said, he thought it was a damn classic. 

“How do you feel about Batman?” he asked, turning around. The sight that he was met with made him stop in his tracks. He'd only been looking at the shelf for a minute and he hadn't heard Castiel move at all but his trench coat was neatly folded and slung over the back of the couch. He was starting to work on the buttons on his suit jacket when he stopped, smiling sheepishly. 

“Sorry, it's a little warm,” he said, hands dropping back into his lap. “And to answer your question about Batman, I don't know. I've never seen a Batman movie.” 

“Well in that case, we'll just have to marathon them someday,” he grinned. He had to admit, it was nice to see Cas without so many damn layers on; he looked much less bulky and the semi-permanent scowl on his face had definitely lessened. He also couldn't help but feel a little bit prideful; he was pretty sure that he was the only person involved in the production of the film who had actually seen Castiel missing part of his uniform. 

Somewhere, he had a feeling that Zachariah was suddenly upset for a reason he couldn't quite figure out. 

He got the movie set up, grabbed the pizza from the kitchen and plunked back down on the couch, swinging his feet onto the coffee table. He was surprised that the damned thing hadn't buckled yet; Bobby had found it on the side of the road and given it to him one day after work. It had lasted a year so far but it seemed to wobble more and more with each day. 

Nonetheless, despite the danger of it snapping, Dean couldn't help but smirk to himself when Cas slowly swung his legs up onto the scarred surface as well.

Dean had seen the movie so many times that he had every gag and quip memorized and so, once again, he spent most of his time watching Castiel from the corner of his eye. He was pretty sure that he never stopped smiling for the entire movie; on cue, he laughed at the ridiculous gags and surprisingly, not once did he question the absurdity or the illogical nature of some of the situations. He simply went with it and Dean thought that it had been a long time since he'd seen someone enjoy a movie with such purity. By the time the movie finished, they had topped off the pizza and Castiel's glass of water was long gone. 

“I think I'll have that beer now,” he said as the closing credits started to play. Dean went back to the kitchen, grabbed three more beers (two for himself, one for Cas) and when he got back, Castiel had finally finished shrugging off his suit jacket as well. Dean was about eighty percent positive that he was the only person in the entire town (except maybe Anna and she didn't count) who had seen Castiel without two of his three layers and although on the surface it was another one of those thoughts that made him smirk, the reaction underneath was quite different. After all, you would have had to been blind to think that the man was ugly; those blue eyes were enough evidence of that. And without his bulky layers, Dean could see that Cas actually had muscle definition in his arms and although it may have been a nice sight, he wasn't sure if it was an appropriate one for him to be looking at. 

He swallowed heavily and stopped standing in the doorway like an idiot, carefully cradling the beers in his hands. At least that was one aspect of his job that had proven useful in the world outside the lot's gates. Castiel was standing in front of the shelf, hands shoved into his pockets, the cuffs of his shirt pushed up so that the knobs of his wrist were exposed. Going by the standards of a town where everyone was baked to perfection, his skin was absurdly pale and Dean didn't know if it was just the difference of the sight or something else but he found it hard to look away. 

“Did you want to move on to the next Batman flick, or watch something else?” he asked, cracking open his beer and taking a huge sip. His mouth was feeling rather dry for no reason he could pinpoint. Castiel was silent for another moment before he grabbed a movie from the top shelf and handed it over to Dean. 

“You want to watch _300_?” he asked, unable to hold back the confusion in his voice. Going from the camp that was Adam West to the hyper-macho cheese of _300_ was a bit of a change even for someone who had watched a ton of movies; Dean was pretty sure that it was going to be full on culture shock for Cas. 

“Sure,” Cas shrugged. “I have to start somewhere, right?” Dean shrugged as well; he certainly couldn't fault that reasoning. Cracking Castiel's beer as well, he set the movie up, turning down the surround sound a tad so that the neighbors didn't put in a noise complaint. By the time he sat back down, a quarter of Castiel's beer was gone and the look on his face was nothing short of comical. 

“Please tell me you've drank a beer before,” Dean said, only briefly removing his eyes from Cas' face so that he could skip through all the commercials for movies that had been out for years. 

“It's been awhile.” Cas took another sip, his face squished up even more and Dean was pretty sure that if he didn't look away, he was going to end up spitting alcohol all over the coffee table. 

“Well maybe you should slow down a bit,” he said, only to have that squished up face turn into an all out glare. “Or not, okay, your choice man,” he responded, throwing up his arms in mock surrender before he pressed play on the menu. 

Half an hour into the movie, Castiel had already finished his beer and had asked (rather sheepishly, actually) if Dean would get him another one. On his way back to the living room for what he was sure was the fifth time that evening, he stopped to surreptitiously peek at Castiel's reactions to the movie. What he saw was enough to make him blink rapidly. The beer hadn't gone to his head, his tolerance was way too high for that but he had to have been imagining the look on Castiel's face. There was absolutely no way that he was checking out the (admittedly very nice, if a tad unrealistic) abs on the main characters. 

There was _no_ way. 

Yet Dean definitely recognized that look; hell, he was pretty sure that he'd had that look the first time he'd watched the movie. When he stepped back into the room, handing Castiel his already opened beer, he was definitely blushing. 

“I have this feeling Spartans did not look like that,” he muttered, quickly taking a huge gulp of beer. Shocked as he was, Dean couldn't help but initiate some teasing. 

“Nah, maybe not all of them. Some of them though, probably. Too bad guys don't look like that now,” he said. The blush on Castiel's face grew even darker and Dean wasn't entirely sure how to process the information he was getting. For all intents and purposes, it seemed pretty obvious that Cas was into guys in at least some respect but Dean didn't really know what to do with that information. Did he bring it up? Did he pretend that he hadn't noticed anything?

In the end, he settled for the latter. After all, even though he knew that he could have given Cas support if he was struggling with the issue, it still wasn't any of his business. If he wanted to talk about it, Dean would listen, but he wasn't going to risk ruining the friendship that he was really enjoying. 

By the time the movie ended, the beer was obviously starting to work on Castiel, who was yawning fairly frequently. Dean still wasn't that tired; his tolerance was way too high for that but it was nigh on ten o'clock and he had a long drive ahead of him. By the time he finished packing, he figured it would be a good time to call it a night. 

“I'm going to get the rest of my shit packed up then get some shut-eye,” he said, coffee table creaking ominously as he swung his legs off of it. “I'll get you a pillow and stuff, alright?” 

“That would be nice,” Castiel said, muffling another yawn into his sleeve. “Would you mind if I put something else on?” 

“Nah man, take your pick. That's what they're there for.” Castiel smiled again, an actual smile with his teeth showing and everything and Dean couldn't help but think that if the author flashed that grin at the bigwigs, even the twitchy screenwriter would have bowed down at his feet and done anything he asked. 

Dean was positive that he had more self control than those vultures. But just a little bit. 

“Thank you Dean.” Before Dean could stop him, Cas started gathering up the beer bottles in his hands and taking them into the kitchen, where he was rinsing them out judging by the sound of rapidly flowing water. By the time Dean gathered up a spare pillow and a comforter from his closet, the coffee table was mostly clean, aside from a few pizza crumbs that were sitting in the cracks in the wood. 

“You didn't have to do that,” he said, dropping the bedding off on the couch as Castiel walked back into the room, wiping his hands on his trousers. 

“I suppose not, but that would have been rude,” he said, punctuating the end of his statement with another brief shrug. Dean didn't bother debating the statement any further but he definitely appreciated the gesture nonetheless. The man was pretty well the perfect house guest and he had a good feeling that sharing a hotel room with Castiel was going to be far less awkward than he'd initially imagined. 

“Do you need pajamas or anything?” he asked, wincing as a yawn unexpectedly ripped from his throat. His mind was still fairly wide awake but his body was starting to get pretty damn tired. Castiel muttered his response so quietly that Dean couldn't pick up what he said and it was only after he raised an eyebrow that Castiel repeated himself, the words still shoved together so that they were only barely coherent.

“I usually just sleep in my boxers.” 

“Oh,” Dean said, trying to organize his thoughts into a way that made sense so that he could keep talking. Castiel seemed to take his word as a negative reaction, however, so Dean started babbling before Cas got the wrong idea.

“Hey man, that's fine, so do I. Sleep in my boxers, I mean. It's cool.” Dean could feel the back of his neck heating up and he really didn't want to make an ass of himself so he cleared his throat and determinedly stared at the ground. 

“I'm just gonna lock the door and... goodnight, Cas.” 

“Goodnight Dean,” he said, turning to pull another DVD off of the shelf. Dean quickly locked up, brushed his teeth and shut his bedroom door behind him. He hadn't been aware that he'd been holding his breath until he let it out, leaning against the back of his door. He hadn't started packing at all yet but he needed to take a moment to just stop and set himself straight. His brain was acting ridiculous, it was playing tricks on him and having thoughts he really didn't want to have. Sure, Castiel was a good looking guy, a _really_ good looking guy; he had definitely given up trying to deny that to himself. But the man was his friend and he was pretty sure that he was the only person Castiel trusted in the entire town. He wasn't going to be stupid, wasn't even going to think about damaging that friendship, especially in a town where people were more interested in money than anything else. 

“Quit it,” he muttered, aware that he'd said the words out loud. Above all else, he didn't have time to be entertaining such stupid, harmful thoughts. He hadn't even begun to pack for the weekend; he wasn't even sure what all he needed. He forced himself to stop thinking and started tearing apart his bedroom. 

The road trip was off to a great start.


	7. I will share your road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the vast length of this chapter and the fact that so much happens in it but I honestly couldn't find another place to cut it off. I hope you lovely readers enjoy it and I hope you are all having a good holiday season. (:
> 
> PS: Title comes from Hopeless Wanderer by Mumford and Sons.

The alarm on his cell phone went off at five o'clock and Dean's first instinct was to throw the thing across the room into his laundry basket so that it wouldn't wake him up any further. But after a moment of deliberation, he realized that getting another hour or so of shut-eye simply wasn't worth fighting through the crazy traffic and so, he reluctantly rolled out of bed, rubbing sleep crust out of the corner of his eyes. If it hadn't been for Castiel being on his couch, he would have wandered out in just his boxers but the last thing he needed was to frighten his friend so he pulled on the only pair of sweatpants he owned and grabbed a random shirt off the top of his hamper. The sun was already peeking above the horizon and if he listened carefully, he could hear someone honking a horn off in the distance. 

Just another typical morning. 

When he passed by the living room, Castiel was just sitting up, shrugging the blanket off of his shoulders. He was still shirtless and when he stretched out his arms, joints popping loudly, the black wings inked across the expanse of his back and shoulders flexed. Dean stopped in his tracks, unable to stop staring at the tattoo. It was way larger than he'd expected and almost completely symmetrical, with Castiel's spine as the dividing line. When Dean had read about the tattoos online, he'd been expecting some pretty shifty work done by someone with a dirty needle and some pen ink but the wings were incredibly well-done; he'd seen work by professionals that didn't look nearly as good. The inner parts of the wings were covered in feathers but as they narrowed, the tips extending out to just above where Castiel's bicep began, the feathers disappeared, leaving only a black, skeletal framework. It was almost undoubtedly one of the most beautiful tattoos Dean had ever seen and it was only when Castiel cleared his throat that he snapped back to reality. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling like he'd stuck his foot in his mouth, again. “It's... it's really well-done.” Castiel twisted his head over his shoulder and ran a hand across his back, expression difficult to read. 

“I suppose,” he said softly, fingertips trailing over the feathers. “I only wish it didn't hold so many bad memories.” He smiled sadly and stood up, seemingly unembarrassed by the fact that he was only wearing plain white boxers. His hair was stuck up again, spiking out in seemingly impossible directions and when he ran his fingers through it, Dean had to make a definite effort to not pay attention to Castiel's muscles flexing underneath his skin. 

“May I use your shower before we leave?” he asked, the sad tone having abruptly vanished from his voice. 

“'Course man. Want some bacon and eggs?” 

“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Dean.” The real smile came out again and then, grabbing his duffel and suit bag from the hall closet, Castiel was off. Dean didn't think he'd ever been so excited for someone so attractive to put their clothes back on. He busied himself with making breakfast and when Castiel came back out to the kitchen, just finishing the knot on his blue tie, Dean was switching off the burner on the stove, a fresh pot of coffee ready at his elbow.

“Hope you brought your appetite,” Dean said, filling a plate to the edge with bacon and fried eggs before plunking it on the kitchen table in front of Cas.

“That smells wonderful,” Castiel said, grabbing the fork that Dean passed him. He immediately started to dig in, like a man who'd been starving for weeks. His table manners may not have been completely top notch but he definitely sounded like he was enjoying the food. He cleaned his plate in a matter of minutes and started working on his cup of coffee, jolting back when the first sip burnt his tongue. 

“This is much, much better than my hotel's breakfasts,” he sighed happily and Dean really didn't think he'd ever seen anyone be so pleased over such a simple meal. 

“I dunno 'bout that, but I'm glad you like it,” he muttered around his own mouthful of bacon, feeling quite pleased with himself. It was nearly six o'clock so he decided to leave the dishes; they'd be fine until Sunday evening came around. 

“You ready to get this show on the road?” he asked, shrugging his beaten-up leather jacket on. Castiel grabbed his trench coat from the back of the sofa and slid it on, nodding once. 

“I'm ready.”

***

Neither of the coats lasted long.

Despite the early hour, the traffic was still pretty bad and it was already uncomfortably warm outside. Turning on the air conditioner would have just been a waste of gas so they braved the smog. By the time Dean finally got them out of the city, his leather jacket had been tossed into the back seat. Castiel lasted a little longer, but just; Dean turned off the highway at one point, picturing his preferred scenic route of shortcuts in his head and despite the change in temperature, Cas carefully wriggled his way out of his trench coat and dropped it on the back seat as well. Dean had his favorite mix tape going (the thought of outfitting his Baby with a CD player actually made him shudder) and he had one arm slung out the window, tapping the beat of a Styx song on his door. It had been a long time since he'd been so happy. It was nice to be on the open road again and the thought of being able to see Sam again was the icing on top of the cake. 

Having Castiel, the dude who really shouldn't have been his friend with him? Well, that was definitely the cherry. 

“Hey man, you okay over there?” he asked once side A of the tape had ended. Castiel had just been staring out the window for nearly half an hour and although there was a small smile on his face, Dean couldn't be too sure what he was thinking about. He was hoping to distract Castiel from the film for at least the weekend and if he had to talk the entire ride to Stanford to do it, it was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make. 

“Yes, I'm fine,” he said, turning away from the window. “It's just... it's very pretty. It reminds me of my home.”

“Do you miss it?” Dean asked, briefly glancing over, wishing that he could study Castiel's reaction for a longer period of time. It took him a moment to answer and Dean could see that he was staring out the window again, mouth slightly open, obviously trying to concoct a sentence. 

“Very much so,” he finally answered, holding his hand out the open window, letting his fingers sway in the air that flowed around the car. “It's incredibly peaceful and offers solitude. It was exactly what I needed when I left the Order. And I find the wilderness to be inspirational. I can't write in the city. It just isn't the same.” He stopped looking out the window and when Dean turned his head the slightest, he found himself looking directly into Castiel's baby blue eyes. Dean hadn't noticed until now but there were little tiny wrinkles at the corner of Cas' eyes. 

“It sounds nice,” he said, clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the steadily unfurling road. His words were genuine; when he'd been sixteen, his dad had taken him and Sammy on vacation to one of his friend's cabins in the woods of Montana and it had been a great experience. The air was so much cleaner, smelled way better. The colors on the trees seemed more vibrant and the water from the well had been ice-cold and chlorine free. They'd fished and swam in the stream just down the hill and had a massive bonfire and come to think of it, Dean was pretty sure that was the last really good time he'd had with his entire family. 

“It is,” Castiel said simply, smiling as he worked at the buttons on his suit jacket before sliding it off with some difficulty and tossing it into the backseat onto his trench coat. “You're more than welcome to visit it one day, after the movie is done.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean said, trying his best to sound relatively non-committal despite the fact he thought Castiel's suggestion was a wonderful idea. Cas didn't seem to catch the hesitation in his voice, however; he was fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of his white shirt and once he had them undone, he rolled them up to his elbow, exposing his forearms. Even though the threat of the screenwriters calling Castiel lingered with every moment that went by, Dean noticed that he seemed completely relaxed. He was smiling, leaning back in his seat with his eyes half-closed. If he hadn't had witnessed it with his own eyes, Dean wouldn't have believed that this was the same man who had nearly broken a table while in a rage. Then again, he supposed that everyone had numerous facets that all contributed to their total personality; he was sure that if Castiel ever saw him angry, he'd be just as confused. Still, it was almost if the writer part of Castiel was an aberration, a part that didn't quite fit in the whole, like a puzzle piece that was just slightly off. Nonetheless, regardless of what part of him was front and center, his uniform seemingly never changed and after a few moments of contemplating the deep blue tie that was still looped around Castiel's neck, Dean just had to ask. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course, Dean.” 

“What's with all the suits?” Castiel cracked his eyes open again and a furrow appeared on his brow. 

“I find picking out clothes to be tedious,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “So, I found something that worked and that seemed appropriate for most venues and decided to stick with it.”

“Well hey man, I can't fault you there,” Dean said, gesturing to his outfit, which was a variation of the plain t-shirt, plaid button-up and loose jeans that he always wore. “But haven't you ever tried the color blue?”

“My tie is blue,” Cas said, holding the aforementioned item in his hand and staring down at it.

“I mean for your suits. 'Sides, black's gotta get awfully warm, doesn't it?” 

“Well, in this climate, yes. It just... I've never really thought about experimentation, I guess. That's more Anna's field of expertise.” Dean had a feeling that Castiel was referring to more than clothing when he talked about Anna and he couldn't help but smirk. He was sure she had quite a few good stories that her brother didn't know about. 

“Do you wear a suit when you're writing?” he asked. He didn't know why he was continuing to pursuing the issue; probably because despite how ridiculous it was if Castiel _did_ wear a suit to write, he could still picture it perfectly. His brain had no problem imagining Castiel decked out in his suit and tie (and probably the trench coat too), bent over a typewriter (or maybe a desktop computer but definitely not a laptop), tapping away rapidly. 

“Of course not. Anna bought me a bathrobe for Christmas a number of years ago. It's much more comfortable.” Dean wasn't sure why he found that image harder to believe but he wasn't going to lie, it was a nice one to picture. He had no idea what the robe actually looked like (probably black) but he was sure that, if Castiel left his cabin as scarcely as Dean suspected, it was probably pretty well worn. After some adjusting, he managed to combine his mental images together so that while Castiel was still hunched over a keyboard, he was now doing so in a black bathrobe that had been fluffy at one point. His hair was also sticking straight up and he was biting the corner of his lip and Dean forced himself to stop thinking about it. If he wanted to get them to Stanford in one piece, he was really going to have to start paying more attention to the road. 

They stopped for gas and food around nine o'clock, in a small town Dean had gone through twice before on his trips to visit Sam. The restaurant didn't look like much on the outside but it served one of the best breakfast sandwiches he'd ever consumed and, even better, it always had a decent selection of fresh-made pie. Generally, Dean was happy to scarf down the stuff that came out of a box but having variety, homemade variety at that, was just a bonus. He tried valiantly to get Cas to try a piece of the apple that he selected but the man just stared at him like he was committing a very indecent act and Dean left it at that. 

“You don't know what you're missing,” he muttered, shoving another forkful into his mouth. Table manners be damned, the pie was good and the faster it got into his mouth, the faster he could have another piece. Their departure was slightly delayed by a quick bicker over who was going to pay the tab; Castiel insisted that he should have but when the waitress came over with the bill, Dean slipped a twenty and a ten into her hands and told her to keep the change while Cas was still rummaging in his wallet. Then they were back on the road, with three more hours to go between them and Stanford. 

The hours passed by quickly; the route was ingrained in Dean's head so he could actually focus on holding a pretty decent conversation. A Led Zeppelin song popped up on one of his mix tapes, which led Castiel to ask a fairly innocent question about the band, which then turned into a lecture as Dean rapidly swapped tapes out, giving Castiel a crash course in the greatest band of all time. It wasn't the first time he'd pulled the spiel out but he was pretty sure that he'd never had anyone regard the whole situation with complete solemnity. He half expected Castiel to pull a notebook out of somewhere and start taking notes. He didn't quite go that far but nonetheless, Dean just thought that it was nice to have someone who genuinely listened to him, even though he knew he was rambling and should have stopped. 

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, Castiel was staring out the window again, looking like he was attempting to photograph the city with his eyes. He kept making little exclamations under his breath, quick things like _wow_ and _huh_. He was just so damn enthusiastic about the whole situation and Dean really wished that he could have experienced the journey through Castiel's eyes. 

They reached the university around twelve thirty and since Dean was pretty positive that Sam was still on campus, he decided to just park and wait for his brother to finish class, rather than showing up at his apartment and not being able to get in. He had absolutely no idea what building his brother had class in so to kill time, him and Castiel decided to just walk around. Cas seemed like he was in absolute heaven; he kept turning around, like he was trying to catch a detail he missed on his first glance. Dean noticed that a few students were glancing at him curiously, like they weren't quite sure if the man running his fingers over a stone statue was the same best-selling author they'd seen in the back of _Heavenly Warfare_. Not one of them asked for an autograph and for that, Dean was kind of thankful. The black smudge of permanent marker was still a stain on the back of Castiel's hand, after all. The walk did succeed in killing time; after twenty minutes, the pathways started filling up as students streamed out of every building in the vicinity. Rather than getting caught up in the flow, Dean moved over to stand under a tree, keeping an eye out for his brother, who should have been relatively easy to spot, tall as he was. For his part, Castiel seemed to be content to watch the traffic, like he was keeping an eye out for someone to write his next novel about. 

“Cas?” The voice came from the other side of the tree and a short, blonde man with a plastic container in his hand stepped around so that he was facing both Dean and Castiel. It was hard to pinpoint the man's age; he looked just slightly too old to be an undergrad student but he could very well have been working on his master's. The container in his hand was full of rainbow belt candy and even as he gasped with apparent delight, he was working on devouring one of the sugary belts. 

“Oh my God, it _is_ you!” the man yelled, dropping the container to the ground before launching himself at Castiel. Cas barely kept his balance as he slowly brought his arms up, giving the man what was more of a pat on the back than a reciprocation of his hug. 

“Gabriel, what are you doing here?” he asked, stepping back. The man shrugged, still grinning even as he picked up his container and popped another rainbow belt into his mouth. 

“Oh, y'know, work stuff,” he said through his chewing. It was probably the vaguest answer Dean had ever heard and judging from Castiel's facial expression, he thought much the same. However, if he planned on asking for clarification, he didn't get a chance because the man Dean now assumed was one of Castiel's siblings bounced over to stand in front of him. Even standing still, he was still twitching, like he had one hell of a sugar high. 

“And who are _you_?” he asked and despite the fact he was still grinning, he was staring at Dean in a manner that was rather unnerving. 

“Dean,” he said, holding out his hand for Gabriel to shake. The hand he got in return was coated in sugar and he tried to wipe it off on his jeans as discreetly as he could. “I'm Cas' friend. I work on the set of-”

“Ah yes, I did hear that they were making a movie out of your book! Congratulations bro!” Gabriel slapped Castiel hard on the shoulder before moving away again, fishing the last rainbow belt out of his container. 

“So, Cas, are you and-”

“Gabriel, shut up.” Dean hadn't heard Castiel sound so mad since the incidence in the boardroom and the tone of his voice apparently had the same effect on Gabriel, who slowly backed away, hands up in the air. 

“Whoa man, forget I said anything,” he said. There was sugar stuck to the corner of his mouth and even as he tried to look semi-serious, his tongue snaked out and licked it off, rendering the whole scene ridiculous. The more Gabriel spoke (or moved or even just existed), the harder a time Dean had with reconciling the fact that he was apparently Castiel's half-brother. Any possible trace of seriousness vanished from Gabriel's face when his eyes shifted to something behind them and he wiggled his goddamn eyebrows comically high, fingers scraping the empty bottom of his plastic container. 

“Well well, who the hell is _that_ tall drink?” he asked. Dean turned around out of curiosity's sake and as far as he could see, the tallest person in the general vicinity was Sam, who was just crossing the grass. 

“Oh, you mean that dude?” He tried to sound as casual as he could as he slid up beside Gabriel. Castiel, for his part, was doing his trademark head tilt, staring off into the crowd like he was actually trying to find a tall beverage. 

“Yeah, that one, the one coming this way, with the floppy hair and the hella nice cheekbones.” It took Dean a moment to recover (he hadn't heard anyone say hella in _years_ ) and then it hit him that Gabriel was, without a doubt, leering at his brother, who was too busy staring down at his phone to realize that Dean was standing only a few feet away. 

“Yeah, that would be my brother.” The look on Gabriel's face was downright hilarious; he looked from Sam to Dean, back to Sam and by the time he looked back at Dean again, all traces of the leer had gone from his face, replaced with something akin to terror. 

“Oh,” he said, drawing the word out so that it had four syllables rather than the customary one. “Well, forgive me for that. But he is a nice looking guy...”

“Sam!” Dean didn't want to hear one more word from Gabriel's mouth about his brother and he really didn't feel like creating a scene and slugging the guy so he started walking towards his brother, who had finally taken his phone away from his face and was grinning ear to ear. 

“Dean!” He met Dean halfway and pulled him into an absolute bone-crushing hug. By the time he let go, Dean felt like some of his ribs had been rearranged; it'd been months since he'd seen Sammy but some things just didn't change. 

“How've you been?” he asked, patting Sam's shoulder once before turning around so that they could start the walk back to where Castiel and Gabriel were talking in hushed tones. “How's Jess?”

“She's good, we're good,” he said, shouldering his backpack up higher. “Aside from school being an absolute killer, we're good. She's super excited to meet Mr. Milton.” 

“Please, call me Castiel.” The end of Sam's sentence coincided with Castiel ending his conversation with Gabriel, who was still scraping his fingers along the bottom of his container, like he was seeking out every possible crumb of sugar that he could find. That leer was slowly but surely sneaking back onto his face and to be honest, Dean actually kind of felt sorry for Castiel; being around Gabriel was infuriating enough, but being related to him must have been a whole other ballpark. 

“Well, it's great to meet you,” Sam said and Dean could tell that it was going to be awhile before he would get comfortable with the notion of addressing Cas with such informality. “My girlfriend is a big fan.”

“Dean told me,” he said, with a hint of a smile playing on his mouth. “I'm looking forward to meeting her. She sounds lovely.” Sam returned the smile before turning to Gabriel, sticking out his hand before Dean could say anything. 

“Hi, I'm Sam.”

“I'm Gabriel, his brother,” he said, jerking his head towards Cas as he spoke, “but you can call me anything you like.” He had enough time to drop a wink before Castiel was bellowing at Gabriel again, which drew some rather strange looks from the surrounding students. 

“We should probably head out,” Sam said, his cheekbones red. “Jess won't be done class till four so I said we'd meet her back at the apartment.”

“Want a ride back? We've gotta go grab our hotel room then we can drive over, sound good?”

“Sounds great. It's been too long since I've actually been in a car. Taking the bus kind of sucks.” With one last quizzical glance at Gabriel, who was mouthing _call me_ at a girl who walked by, he started walking alongside Dean. 

“Cas, you coming?” Dean called to the author, who was seemingly glaring at Gabriel's back with all the rage he could possibly muster. He quickly snapped out of it and turned away from his brother without another word, nodding before falling into step with Dean. For his part, Gabriel didn't seem to notice; in the last glimpse Dean got of him before another tree blocked his view, he was reaching into a dark green backpack that was sitting at his feet, presumably to pull out another container of candy. 

“Cas, your brother is kinda weird, y'know that?” he said as they approached the Impala, which was drawing admiring stares from a couple of frat boys in the nearby vicinity. 

“Dean, I don't wish to talk about Gabriel,” he said, effectively ending the conversation in its tracks. Dean merely shrugged before opening the trunk so that Sam could toss his backpack in. Castiel seemed to know the deal; without a word, he slid into the back seat, gingerly shoving his coats and Dean's leather jacket over to one side. Sam's knees were practically hitting the dashboard when he got into the passenger seat; Dean hated to admit it but there was absolutely no way that he could deny that Sam was definitely taller than him now. 

“Bobby called you lately?” Dean asked once they'd gotten onto the road. Getting off of campus was always quite the frustrating affair; the students didn't seem to care about where the marked crosswalks were and those few people who were driving obediently followed the speed limit, which was a paltry fifteen miles an hour. Sam nodded, stretching one arm over the back of the seat, making himself completely at home. 

“A few days ago, yeah. Sounds like the movie is quite the doozy.” His face immediately paled and he swiveled around in his seat, mouth open like he was about to apologize. Cas simply raised his hand, like he was brushing away any offense that had happened. 

“It's fine, Sam,” he said, smiling rather ruefully. “The production of the film certainly has been trying on my nerves, I must admit.” 

“Man, that sucks,” Sam said, turning back around. “I know it must mean a lot to you that they do a good job with it.” 

“It's unfortunate that the people with the power to make it happen are seemingly incapable of acknowledging that,” he sighed from the back seat. “I'm hoping that their latest attempt at a script will be more satisfactory.” He fell back into silence, seemingly happy to look back out the windows. While they were stopped at a crosswalk with a seemingly never-ending stream of students, Sam turned his head and glanced quickly into the back seat before looking back at Dean and shrugging. Dean shrugged back in response; being alone with his brother so much when they were kids meant that they didn't really have to speak in order to understand each other. If Dean had to translate their non-verbal conversation, it would have gone something like: 

_Sam: does he always talk like that?_

_Dean: Yep. Dunno why._

Sam's apartment was only a ten minute drive away from the campus and after they dropped him off, Cas slid back into the passenger seat and they set off for the hotel. Dean had stayed in it before; much like the little diner they'd eaten at on the way up, it was nothing fancy on the outside, or the inside, for that matter. But it was pretty cheap, the sheets were always clean and you usually didn't have to deal with listening to two strangers have sex on the other side of the wall. It certainly wasn't no Hilton or Marriot or whatever the hell Castiel was probably used to but when Dean had showed him the place on his laptop before they'd left, he'd heard not a single peep of protest. Nor was he hearing any when they pulled into the place. It was only three floors high and it seemed just as empty as usual; since it wasn't spring break or a holiday season, there were only a few cars parked in front. Dean was almost positive that they'd have a ground floor room or two, which was always a plus side; his father had engrained it into him and Sam that staying on the first floor was always the safest. You may have been at an increased risk of getting your shit stolen but if there was a fire, you could get out way quicker. 

Dean's original plan had been to get two single rooms but before he had so much as smiled at the pretty girl behind the desk, Castiel had dropped his credit card onto the reception desk, followed swiftly by a piece of ID. 

“Can I get a room please?” he asked. The girl looked from him and Dean and Dean could just see it in her face, could just see that she thought they were a couple. 

“One bed or two?” she asked, attempting to be coy. Dean wanted to smack his head off the cracked wood of the front desk. 

“Two, of course,” Castiel replied, his head tilting. Dean wasn't sure if he was even aware of the action or if it was just a subconscious twitch that occurred whenever he was confused. Nonetheless, the girl quickly wrote up the reservation, her cheekbones flushed red and as soon as Castiel signed the registry, her face lit up. 

Oh lord. 

“Are you the same Castiel Milton that wrote _Heavenly Warfare_?” she asked. Castiel nodded and it was all too obvious that her excitement was barely contained beneath the surface. “Could you sign my copy please? I just need to get it out of the office.”

“Of course,” Castiel said. The words had barely left his mouth before she was zipping off into the open door behind the desk. While she was searching, Dean shouldered his duffel further up onto his shoulder and took his wallet out of his pocket. 

“Cas, you didn't need to pay for that,” he said, making to pull two twenties out of his wallet so that he could provide at least partial compensation. However, his fingers had barely touched the thin pieces of paper before Castiel snatched his wallet faster than Dean had thought possible and tucked it inside the pocket of his trousers, underneath his coat so that Dean couldn't get to it. 

“Dean, your kindness at inviting me along is more than enough recompense,” he said, smiling. “Please, let me do this.” Dean sighed; it wasn't that he was ungrateful to Castiel for paying for the hotel room. If he was talking in purely financial terms, it definitely helped. He didn't need much money to live, just enough to pay his rent, buy some food and beer and put gas in the Impala but any extra money he had went to Sam. University was goddamn expensive and sure, Sam had gotten a full ride, but that didn't cover living expenses. Without their dad around and with Bobby having a wife and a step-daughter, it was up to Dean to do the best he could to help out his little brother. But aside from all that, his dad had never raised them to accept charity, except from each other. Maybe it was because his dad hadn't liked being in doubt to someone; Dean didn't really like to give it a whole lot of thought. Whatever it was, it just made him uncomfortable and regardless of what Castiel said, Dean knew that he had to do something to pay him back. 

The girl came back out of the office, clutching a hardcover copy of Castiel's novel to her chest, nearly bubbling over with excitement. She thumped it down onto the desk and eagerly flipped it open to the first blank page. Cas grabbed the pen from beside the guest book and quickly scrawled his name in what was really more of a messy series of lines than a recognizable signature.

“Thank you so much,” the girl said, clutching the book to her chest again. For her sake, Dean really hoped that the ink didn't smear. For his part, Castiel simply smiled at her and picked his duffel up, the keys for their room dangling in his fingers. 

The room layout was exactly how Dean remembered it; hell, he was actually pretty sure that he'd stayed in the exact same one at some point. There was one window set into the far wall, covered with a gauzy pair of mint green curtains. The beds were dressed in bedding of the same colors, while the carpet was a slightly darker shade, more like forest green. There was a tiny nightstand separating the two beds, which Dean knew would contain the customary Bible. A tiny, vinyl topped table with two bright orange, plastic chairs sat underneath the window, both showing signs of wear. There was a small set of drawers across from the beds, with a tiny television on top. The bathroom was nothing to write home about, but it was clean and the towels smelled like laundry detergent rather than mold so that was always a bonus. Dean remembered one summer, when his dad had dragged him along on one of his hauls, they'd stayed in a crappy little roadside motel once the job was done and when he'd unfolded one of the towels to take a shower, there had been dried blood caked into the ratty fabric. 

It hadn't been the only time he'd found himself in a hotel room that he really wish he hadn't seen so, despite his positive experiences with the building in the past, he quickly unfolded the towels, checking them for any rust-brown spots. But he was met only with faded green and with that, he could rest comfortably. Castiel had already picked the bed closest to the door and he was sitting on the edge of it, running his fingers over the fabric, bouncing a little bit like he was a child. Dean dropped his bag onto the other bed and let himself fall backwards, leaving his boot-clad feet dangling off the edge so that he wouldn't get dirt on the clean sheets. He sunk further into the mattress and he sighed in appreciation, letting his eyes drop closed for a few moments. 

“Memory foam,” he murmured happily. 

“Memory foam?” Castiel asked from the next bed and Dean nodded without opening his eyes. He'd been planning on getting a memory foam mattress for his own bed at home but they were a little outside of his price range, especially when you added delivery on top of it. 

“Yeah, just lie down. It's awesome.” There was a rustle and then he heard Cas groan. He cracked one eye open and looked sideways to see Castiel lying with his hands underneath his head, eyes shut, trench coat abandoned on the floor. His jacket had bunched up underneath him and his white button-up was pulled tight against his stomach. Cas sighed in appreciation and the action ran through his entire body. 

Dean shut his eyes again. 

“Told you,” he said, enjoying the sheer comfort for a few more moments before he sat up, stretching out a kink in his back. 

“I want one.” Castiel sat up as well, his clothes returning to their proper position. The brief time he'd spent lying down had made the hair on the back of his head all ruffled and Dean had a very startling urge to reach out and brush it back down with his palm until it was flat again. Probably best to ignore that urge; he didn't want to freak out Cas.

“Well, you'll just have to buy one then,” he said, settling for reaching over and lightly smacking Castiel in the shoulder as he stood up. “Anyways, ready to head back over?”


	8. stay for as long as you have time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back lovely readers! I hope your 2014 is off to a great start. xo.
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from Casual Affair by Panic! At The Disco.

Dean didn't know how Sam had done it, but his little brother had somehow been pretty lucky when it came to the apartment finding game. Sure, the rent was still pretty high but in comparison to some of the buildings that were closer to campus, it was an outright steal. It was on the top floor of a three-story walk-up and they were lucky enough to have quiet neighbors who weren't up partying until frankly stupid hours of the night. On the inside, it was obvious that Jess had exercised her influence over the place; her books filled the shelves, trinkets she'd picked up dotted the television cabinet and sat on top of the shelves in the kitchen and one of her binders was sitting on the coffee table in the living room, open to a page half filled with notes. Dean understood Sam's lack of possessions; growing up, they'd moved around so much that they were really limited to what they could fit into a suitcase and neither of them had really gotten over the habit. When Dean and Castiel walked in, Sam was bustling about in the kitchen, throwing together what looked like a stack of sandwiches. 

“Sorry 'bout the food,” he said, the words slightly muffled by the butter knife he had clamped between his teeth. His head disappeared back into the fridge and when he popped back out, he was holding a jar of mayonnaise in his hands. The knife was now balanced between the jar and his fingers and it was much easier to understand his next words. “We haven't had time to actually go grocery shopping in awhile.” 

“Don't suppose you picked up pie?” Dean asked, sidling his way to the kitchen doorway. Sam groaned in mock exasperation and dropped the mayo on the counter before delving back into the fridge. 

“I was going to tell you after dinner, but I guess this will stop your whining,” he sighed, coming back out with a pie that was definitely store-bought but still looked absolutely delicious. 

“Knew you wouldn't hold out on me Sammy,” he said, taking the pie as it was and snatching a fork out of the drying rack beside the sick. “Cas, you want some pie?” 

“No, thank you,” Castiel called back from the living room, where he seemed to be closely scrutinizing Jessica's book collection. His own novel was sitting on the shelf, halfway pulled out and when Dean dropped down onto the tiny couch in front of the television, Castiel was running his fingers over the embossed letters on the spine, delicately tracing each of them. 

“Sure you don't want any?” he asked, trying his best to resist the urge to talk with his mouth full. The words seemed to jolt Cas out of his reverie and he sat down in an armchair that Dean remembered dragging up all three flights of stairs. The thing was definitely starting to show some wear and tear; there were some scuff marks on the tiny wooden legs and there was a fray beginning just under the armrest that was definitely going to be spilling out stuffing at some point in the near future. 

“I'm sure,” he said and although he smiled, it didn't quite reach his eyes. Dean wasn't quite sure what it was but something had been off with the author since they'd left Stanford. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was something to do with Gabriel but beyond that, he had absolutely no idea. 

“Mr. Mil-I mean, Castiel, is turkey okay?” Sam called from the kitchen. 

“Sounds wonderful,” Castiel said. His eyes kept wandering around the small space, like he was trying to memorize every detail of the room. Dean kept chewing on his pie but he was hardly noticing the taste anymore. The more he thought about Gabriel, the more pissed off he got at the dude. Whatever he'd said, it had obviously screwed Castiel up, on the very weekend that he was supposed to be relaxing. 

He had an idea. It was a very stupid idea but that generally wasn't enough to stop him so, having finished half the pie off, he dropped it back off in the kitchen and grabbed his jacket from where it was slung over the back of the couch. 

“Cas, you gonna be okay here for a bit?” he asked, forcing himself to appear casual. “I'm gonna go pick Jess up. Save her from taking the bus.” Castiel nodded and went back to looking at the bookshelf, standing up to pull a thick history textbook into his arms. 

“Dude, you're a little early,” Sam said, jerking his head towards the clock on the microwave, which indicated that it was just after three o'clock. Dean shrugged and popped back into the kitchen long enough to grab a slice of turkey from the package Sam had just opened. 

“Well, y'know, traffic,” he said, smiling through his lame excuse. Sam gave him a weird look but followed it up with a shrug, which Dean took as his acceptance. He'd tell him the truth later, before they left. 

The ride back to the campus took fifteen minutes and after he secured a parking spot, he only had twenty minutes to spare before Jess got out of class. Thankfully, finding Gabriel didn't prove to be too difficult; he was still in the same general vicinity, but under a different tree. When Dean approached him, he was just saying _catch you later, sweetheart_ to a girl who was giggling and flushing about seven different shades of pink. He stared after her for another moment before turning and nearly crashing into Dean. 

“Dean-o! Whatcha doing back here so soon?” Rather than responding, Dean grabbed Gabriel by the sleeve of his olive green jacket and pulled him away from the the walkways. The last thing he needed was another giggling girl interrupting their discussion. 

“What the hell did you say to him?” he hissed once they were out of earshot of the passing students. 

“Who?” Gabriel replied, shrugging as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and began to carefully unwrap a blue Jolly Rancher. Before he could pop it into his mouth, Dean snatched it out of his hand and tossed it across the grass. He didn't know why the issue was getting him so worked up but Gabriel's exaggerated gasp did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. 

“Don't play stupid,” he growled. “I'm talking about your brother.” 

“Oh, Cassie!” He chuckled and shook his head once, letting his eyes drop to the ground. When he looked back up, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes had smoothed out and he was looking at Dean without an ounce of amusement or glee. 

“Are you boffing my brother?” he asked and despite the fact that he sounded completely and utterly serious, Dean had a hard time reconciling his poker face and the absolutely ridiculous word that had come out of Gabriel's mouth. 

“Am I doing _what_?” he spluttered, a little ashamed at how easily Gabriel had taken him by surprise. Gabriel rolled his eyes up to the heavens and muttered something that sounded like _got it bad_ underneath his breath. Although the tiny lines were back beside his eyes, his mouth was still set in a straight line. 

“Please, Dean, you're a grown man. You know. The horizontal mambo, the rusty trombone, the dirty deed.” His eyebrows waggled obscenely on the last phrase but again, their actions didn't match the completely serious look that was settled on the bottom half of his face. For his part, Dean was legitimately shocked. He was so used to people talking themselves in circles, to hiding underneath layers and layers of bullshit. Aside from Bobby and Castiel, nobody he'd ever worked at was any good at speaking frankly, at saying what they meant the first time around. 

It must have been a genetic thing. Regardless, the subject matter of the question was shocking in its own right. What in the hell had given Gabriel that idea?

“No, man, I am not... doing that with Cas. We're just friends.” With those words, Gabriel's face stopped working in halves; he broke out into an absurdly wide grin and reached out to clap Dean on the back. 

“Well, thank God for that!” he announced loudly, drawing a few stares from students walking by. “Then I don't have a care in the world.” He procured another candy, this time pink, from his pocket and popped it into his mouth, grin not wavering in the least. Dean knew that he must have looked like an idiot but he couldn't remember a time when he'd been more confused. Gabriel's mood changed so damn fast that it was ridiculously hard to keep track of and he _still_ hadn't addressed Dean's original question. 

“What the hell does me _not_ sleeping with your brother have to do with what you said to him?” he asked, trying not to twitch at how loudly Gabriel was chewing. “He's been in a weird mood since you talked to him.” Gabriel tsk-tsked once and laid a hand on Dean's shoulder again. Dean didn't really want the shorter man touching him but if he risked being rude, Gabriel was liable to not tell him anything useful so he reluctantly dealt with the contact. 

“Dean,” he said and even though Dean could visibly see the remnants of the pink candy bouncing against his teeth, Gabriel still gave off the aura of being serious. “Once upon a time, my poor clueless brother had some feelings for this guy, this complete douchebag. I mean, it was so painfully obvious from the way Cas talked about him that the guy just wanted one thing from him, if you know what I'm sayin'.” Dean just nodded once, his throat dry; he knew that, for all rights and purposes, what Gabriel was telling him was absolutely none of his business. If Castiel wanted to tell him about his past, he should have been allowed to make that decision for himself. But for some reason, he couldn't quite bring himself to form the words _shut up Gabriel_ , even though he had a feeling that the story wasn't going to end well. 

“Well, flash-forward, the asshole broke Castiel's heart, just like Anna and I knew he would. So I flew out there, broke the guy's ribs and that was the last time I saw Cas.” The blonde man was beaming by the time he finished the tale and his pride was all too obvious. While he found it slightly hard to believe that Gabriel was capable of beating the shit out of anybody, he also had a feeling that the Milton's had a genetic predisposition to fiery tempers. He could only imagine what Anna was capable of doing if she ever got mad. 

Scratch that, he thought quickly. He really didn't want to imagine. 

“So, anyways, moral of the story,” Gabriel said, finally letting go of Dean's shoulder and staring him directly in the eye, “I'm glad Cassie has a good friend, I really am. But you screw with him or, lord forbid, you break his heart and I will kick the shit out of you. Understand?” There was no possible way that Gabriel had gotten taller but Dean felt like he was looming over him and suddenly, the threat of a beat down really didn't seem that far-fetched. He swallowed heavily and nodded quickly, taking a few steps away as inconspicuously as he could. 

“Alright, man. Don't think it's gonna happen but whatever you say.” With that, Gabriel was suddenly unassuming again, pulling a different kind of candy out of a pocket in his jacket. 

“Good man.” Dean glanced down at the watch on his wrist and noticed that Jess was just about to finish her class. Before he left though, he had to ask one more question. It couldn't be just fate that had led to Gabriel being at Stanford at the same time as their visit. 

“Can I ask, what are you actually doing here?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow and finished unwrapping what looked like a lemon drop before he answered.

“You mean, at Stanford?” Dean nodded and Gabriel shrugged, his eyes drifting off to where a group of pretty young co-eds were walking by. “Work, actually. I'm a scout.”

“For movies?” Gabriel nodded and sure, the guy was a little terrifying but this was a conversation that Dean thought he'd be able to appreciate. “Awesome, man. Scouted anybody I know?”

“Doubt it,” Gabriel shot back and Dean couldn't help but groan. If Gabriel was going to pull the whole “I'm only into independent movies” card, Dean thought that he might have to reconsider his decision to punch him in the face. 

“Dude, I work on film sets. Try me.” For a few brief moments, Gabriel was quiet, chewing on his bottom lip and if Dean was seeing things correctly, there was a hint of a blush lingering around his cheekbones. Was he actually embarrassed? Sure, he'd only known the guy for a few hours but he hadn't thought him capable of the emotion. 

“Alexa Starr, Bridget Easylay, Matthew Rigidpost, the list goes on and on.” The names all sounded vaguely familiar to Dean and after a few seconds of searching through his memory, he remembered where he'd heard of Alexa Starr, at least. 

“You're a porn scout?” he asked, unable to stop himself from laughing. Gabriel seemed to have gotten over his momentary embarrassment; he sucked on his lemon drop, making a lewd noise with his lips. 

“That I am. And I'm trying to find the next big star. Looking for someone fresh-faced, someone who could pull off the whole virgin thing, know what I mean?” Before Dean even had a chance to compose an answer (then again, how in the fuck was he supposed to respond to that?), Gabriel's attention drifted to someone over Dean's shoulder. “Someone like that,” he said slowly, the awe in his voice akin to someone looking at a masterpiece of art. Out of curiosity, Dean turned around to see who exactly Gabriel considered to fit his description and he only had to take in the distinctive blonde curls before he was groaning. 

“Dude, that's my brother's girlfriend,” he hissed, hoping that Jess didn't notice him before he had a chance to end the conversation. 

“Well, they're one hell of a good-lookin' couple,” Gabriel said unashamedly, whistling lowly around his lemon drop. Dean glared at him and he raised his hands in mock surrender, bending down to pick up his backpack while he was at it. 

“Hey, it's the truth,” he said, shouldering his bag onto his back. “People love couple stuff, especially when they're amateurs. They go crazy for it. See you later Dean-o.” He winked once before turning and walking across the campus, fingers scrambling in his pockets for another candy. Dean made a mental note to tell Castiel that his brother had a serious sugar addiction before he turned around, just in time to see Jess making an attempt to sneak up on him. 

“Damn it, you weren't supposed to turn around!” she said, lowering her arms and giving him a surprisingly strong hug.

“Hey Jess,” Dean said, sniffling as her curly hair brushed against his nose. “How was class?” 

“Oh, you know, it was about as easy as anatomy can be,” she said nonchalantly, pulling away from the hug. Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes; Jess was smart as a whip, had made it into Stanford with a full ride just like Sam had. She was going through to be a nurse and Dean had absolutely no doubt that she was going to be amazing at it. He was also super positive that she was the one for his brother. 

“Who was that guy?” she asked, poking her chin in the direction that Gabriel had gone off in. Although Dean didn't like lying about something so minor, he wasn't sure if he wanted to explain that Castiel's brother was a skeezy porn scout who had just threatened to kick the shit out of him and who seemed to find both her and Sam attractive. 

“Oh, just asking for directions,” he said, shrugging and holding out his arm for Jess to weave her's through. “Didn't have a clue where he was talking 'bout though.” 

“He'll find it eventually,” she said, accepting the proffered arm, holding onto the strap of her backpack with her other arm. “Anyways, tell me all about Mr. Milton!”

“Well, for starters, you should probably know that he's gonna tell you to call him Castiel...”


	9. I've been tied down dirty in these borrowed sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are a number of chapters that take place in Stanford. I'll try to upload some longer ones so that we aren't here forever. So for now, I hope you don't mind this kind of filler chapter; next chapter develops the relationship between Dean and Cas a little more (:
> 
> Title comes from the song Saturday by Kids in Glass Houses.

It was only once they got back to the apartment that Dean realized that things were probably going to be awkward. After all, Castiel had had his nose in a history textbook when he'd left and hadn't seemed like he wanted to talk to anyone. Had he just made Sam deal with the most untalkative guest ever? That thought quickly vanished from his mind as soon as he started walking up the stairs behind Jess. Loud words were spilling out the open window and at first, they sounded angry but as they stepped inside, Dean realized that what he was hearing was actually an incredibly vigorous debate about, from the sounds of things, organized religion. 

“I'm not saying there's anything inherently wrong with it,” Sam said as Dean stepped over the threshold, “I'm just saying that for some people, it isn't what they want and that should be completely fine. Why do we gotta put a name on it?” He looked as if there was another point still brewing in his mind but then he noticed Jess and was up and off the couch. Dean smiled at Cas as an apology, since Sam was too busy asking Jess how her day was to do it. Cas returned the smile and he genuinely looked like his mood had improved. Dean was pretty sure that the only way he would have been able to make it through nearly an hour of Sam talking about religion would have been with a lot of alcohol, but hey, to each their own. What mattered most was that Cas seemed to have forgotten about whatever the hell Gabriel had said to him to make him upset. 

Guy was weird, that was certain. 

Jess had finally untangled herself from Sam and even though she exuded confidence any other time, she was obviously unsure about how to approach Castiel. Thankfully, he seemed to notice her awkwardness and he stood up, offering out his hand with a slight smile. 

“You must be Jessica,” he said, shaking her hand a little harder than Dean generally thought decent. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Same here,” she said, her awkwardness banished by a giant grin. “Is it okay if I call you Castiel?” 

“Please. I'm sick of hearing Mr. Milton.” He dropped her hand and returned to his seat. The giant history textbook was on the floor beside him and he picked it up, gesturing towards her with it. 

“I was reading through your book while you were gone,” he said. “I hope you don't mind. You have a wonderful collection.” The look on her face was positively hilarious and since Dean figured that she was about to embroil Castiel into a possibly endless conversation, there was no time like the present to catch up with his brother. 

“So, school's going okay?” he asked, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Sam shrugged and grabbed one as well, leading the way out to the little tiny landing at the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I've still got my scholarship so it can't be too bad, right?” Dean gave him a gentle shove, chuckling before taking another sip of his beer. It was his favorite kind; Sam had always been good at remembering stuff like that, at remembering the little things, at remembering everything, actually. He'd always been a good kid and Dean was proud of how well he'd turned out, especially considering all the shit they'd gone through when they were kids. He definitely thought that Sam had turned out better than he had but every time he brought that up, Sam got defensive and it wasn't a conversation he wished to replay anytime soon. A giggle came from the living room and Sam laughed in response, glancing back inside.

“Well, Jess and Castiel seem to be getting along,” he said, leaning against the flimsy guardrail against the edge of the steps. The big-brother part of Dean wanted to tell Sam to stop putting his weight against the wobbly railing but it was Sam's home; Dean was sure that it wasn't the first time he'd leaned against it. 

“Thank Lord for that,” Dean said, smiling when Castiel's deep laugh followed another one of Jessica's giggles. “He's probably just glad to be away from people who are just tryin' to get up the fucking ladder.” 

“Well, it's a good thing you're not like that then,” Sam replied, holding his beer between his long fingers. “Gotta admit though, he is a little... different.” 

“Yeah, he's got his reasons though,” Dean shrugged, turning so that he could stretch his legs out across the landing. “Besides, he ain't no weirder than you or me.” 

“That's true.” The conversation trailed off after that but it didn't bother Dean in the least. It was a different kind of silence from that found on the film sets; there, silence was very rarely a good thing. Silence meant that you were way too early for work or that something potentially catastrophic was about to happen or that filming was taking place. With Sam, Dean just didn't feel the urge to talk all of the time; most of the time, they didn't have to. Once he'd emptied his bottle down to one sip, he held it out so that Sam could clink his against it. 

“Here's to something or another,” Dean muttered before draining the rest of the beer and standing up, his tailbone aching from the hard surface. The living room was a little quieter, due to the fact that Jess and Castiel were both peering at one of her anatomy books with great interest. The copy of Castiel's book was sitting open on the coffee table and his signature was scrawled in bright red pen on the title page.

“Did you guys want to stay for supper tonight?” Jess asked, looking up from the book. “We can just order in or something.” 

“We should let you guys get some work done,” Dean said, smiling apologetically. “Rain check though? Tomorrow night, pizza, on me.” 

“That sounds awesome,” she said, closing the textbook and setting it onto the coffee table, which was in much better condition than Dean's. “If you can get your butt out of bed early enough, we can make breakfast for you guys.” 

“When have you _ever_ known me to sleep in?” 

“Only every chance you get.” She punched him lightly in the arm and he rolled his eyes, giving her a quick one-armed embrace. Castiel stood up from the couch and tucked his hands into his trench coat, which he had apparently not taken off for the entirety of his visit. 

“I will try my hardest to get Dean out of bed for breakfast,” he said solemnly, his face staying static for a few moments before he full-on grinned. His happiness was apparently contagious, as the grin spread to both Sam and Jess and Dean could feel himself mirroring it as well. 

The weekend was off to a good start.

***

By the time they got back to their hotel room, Castiel's mood seemed to have shifted slightly. He was still relatively talkative and smiled at Dean's lame jokes but Dean could just tell that there was something eating away at him. He did plan on asking Cas about it; indeed, the words were actually in his mouth but then Castiel's cell phone started chirping from the pocket of his trench coat. The frown on his face didn't indicate anything good and just from the way he said hello, Dean could tell that it was someone related to the production.

Son of a bitch. 

“So they'll be done by Monday... fine, that's fine... I want a copy of that script the instant it is done... nine AM... okay. Fine. I will be there.” He flipped his phone shut and proceeded to toss it across the room onto his bed. It bounced once and hit the floor with a rather alarming thunk but Castiel didn't look concerned in the least about its fate. His brow was furrowed and he sat down in one of the worn chairs underneath the window. Dean wasn't entirely sure how to react or what to do so he settled on silence. He'd picked up a six pack on the way back to the hotel and he cracked one open, sitting on the edge of his bed, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He tried not to look like he was spying but he kept flicking his eyes sideways, watching to make sure Cas wasn't going to do anything stupid. His forehead was dropped into his palms and after a few moments of rather alarming silence, his foot lashed out and struck the other plastic chair, easily knocking it onto the floor. With that, he sat up straight, shucking his black jacket off and draping it over the back of the chair on top of his trench coat. 

“I feel better now,” he said and Dean couldn't help but let out a breath. Now that Castiel was speaking again, the tension in the room vanished. Castiel kicked his shoes off before he walked over to his bed and sat down, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as well. 

“Well, that's good,” Dean sighed. For a brief moment, his eyes caught on the knob of Castiel's wrists and he forced himself to look away. What the hell was alluring about wrists anyways?

“Wanna see what's on the tv?” he asked, grabbing the remote off of the nightstand between their beds. Castiel shrugged and scooted further up his bed so that he was leaning against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. 

“If it's not too much trouble...” Rather than finishing his sentence, he awkwardly nodded his head towards the bucket of ice that the beer was sitting in.

“Huh? Oh, yeah man, don't have to ask,” Dean said, standing up and passing Cas a beer. The television got a grand total of six channels (not including the porn ones that you had to pay for) but thankfully, one of them was playing a old horror film that Dean vaguely recognized. He was pretty sure that he'd actually seen it for the first time in a hotel room very similar to the one they were currently in and even though it took all of five seconds for him to notice the shitty makeup work and the terrible overacting, it brought back a wave of nostalgia so he left it on, mirroring Cas' position so that he was leaning against his headboard as well. He sank down into the memory foam and barked out a laugh as one of the poor idiots in the film got a machete through the skull. 

“Good God, this is almost as bad as _Beast Man_ ,” he commented once the movie went to commercials, swapping out his empty beer bottle with a full one. 

“I wasn't aware that was possible,” Castiel said, smirking a little. Dean couldn't help but feel a little proud of the author for his remark; the more people that thought _Beast Man 2_ was the worst movie ever, the happier Dean was. 

“It's not. That's why I said almost,” he chuckled, popping the cap off of his beer. Based on the advertisement that was playing, the channel was having a marathon of horror films for the entire night and although Dean recognized most of them based on the brief clips, there were a few that didn't look familiar at all. The next film was something called _Hell Hounds_ and sure, it looked cheesy but there was no way that it could have been worse than what they were already watching.

Turns out he'd been wrong. He didn't know what the channel had against playing quality horror flicks but _Hell Hounds_ was absolutely terrible. The aforementioned hounds were completely invisible and sure, they tried to explain that in the story but Dean had been working around sets long enough to know it was a fancy way of saying “we had no money.” The acting was passable, considering the circumstances; the star was another scream queen, an actress named Meg Masters that he'd met once or twice. She was much easier to tolerate than Ruby but that didn't mean Dean completely liked her. Nonetheless, she was probably the high point of the movie. 

It was only after _Hell Hounds_ finished that Dean realized they'd been sitting in the dark for nigh on three hours. He got up to flip on the overhead light and grab another beer but when he turned around from flicking the light on, all thoughts of beer left his brain. Castiel had undone the top two buttons of his long-sleeved shirt and apparently, he wasn't wearing anything underneath it. The sharp curve of his clavicle was exposed and there was a line of black ink that just came over his shoulder, a reminder of the tattoo across his back. Between the lack of done-up buttons and the fact that his forearms were still exposed, the man was practically naked. 

“Did you want to watch whatever's on next?” Dean managed to stutter, rather perturbed by the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. Cas shrugged, the movement easy and fluid and shifted in his spot, cradling his empty beer bottle loosely in his fingers. 

“Sure. After all, it can't be worse than that last one.” 

That statement turned out to be wrong as well. Less than half an hour into the next movie (entitled _Monster Truck_ ), Dean switched the channel in disgust. He was an advocate for people making the films they wanted to make but there were was no way in hell _anyone_ had made _Monster Truck_ willingly. It was absolutely godawful. 

“I never thought I'd say this, but I think that was worse than _Beast Man 2_ ,” Dean groaned, staring at the infomercial for some kitchen product that now dominated the screen.

“What we saw of it was... awful. Are all horror movies that terrible?” he asked, staring at Dean with his trademarked head tilt. 

“No man, course not,” Dean answered, barely managing to stifle the yawn that came out after his last word. “There's good and bad, like every genre. Think Sammy's got a few good ones, we should watch one tomorrow night.”

“I'd like that. It would be interesting to see something that is actually meant to be horrifying, rather than ridiculous.” He yawned as well and glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “If we're going to make it to breakfast, we should probably sleep soon.” Taking a quick look at his phone (which had been silent so far, thank Christ), Dean definitely agreed. Between the beer and the shitty movies, he hadn't been paying any attention to the time. It was already after one o'clock in the morning and there was no way in hell he was going to miss that breakfast. 

“You're right,” he said, reluctantly sliding off the mattress and grabbing his duffel bag. “Just gonna go get changed and then you can have the bathroom or whatever.” It only took him a few moments to change and brush his teeth but by the time he got back out, Cas had already changed. His clothes were neatly folded on top of the dresser and he was sitting cross-legged against the headboard, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that draped over his toes. Dean tried his best not to linger on the sight; he dropped his duffel beside his bed and clambered under the blankets, which already felt way too damn warm. 

“All yours,” he muttered, resolutely shutting his eyes. 

“Thanks.” Almost against his will, as soon as Dean heard the adjacent bed squeak, one of his eyes popped back open. When Castiel moved, the wings on his back shifted with the muscles underneath the skin, giving the illusion that they were flapping. It was absolutely stunning, there was no doubt about it. 

Dean was extremely thankful when Cas closed the bathroom door. He was even more thankful that he turned the light off when he came back outwards, dropping heavily onto the bed and yawning loudly. Dean had already found the most comfortable spot on the bed and was starting to drift off when Cas spoke up again. 

“Dean?” 

“Mmhm?” 

“Thank you.” Dean wasn't exactly sure what Castiel was referring to but he was too tired to question it.

“No problem, Cas,” he murmured. After a few moments of squeaking from his bed, Castiel fell silent and Dean returned to the cusp of sleep. Just before he tipped over, however, Gabriel popped back into his head. Dean tried to banish him from his head because thoughts of the short, skeezy porn scout were really not conducive to sleep but there was one thing in particular that Dean just couldn't stop thinking about.

Got it bad. He was sure that had been what Gabriel had muttered under his breath when they were having their discussion. Got it bad. At the time, Dean had had absolutely no fucking clue what Gabriel had been talking about but, in one of those half-asleep epiphanies that are often the most brilliant of all, Dean realized that Gabriel had been talking about him. Regardless of Dean saying that him and Castiel were just friends, Gabriel had said that Dean had it bad. 

His last truly coherent thought, accompanied by a brief sinking of his stomach, was that he was starting to think that Gabriel was correct.


	10. I've got a collar full of chemistry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again lovely readers! I once again apologize for the sheer length of this chapter but I hope that you all enjoy it! xo.
> 
> PS: Title comes from the song Collar Full by Panic! At The Disco.

Dean woke up the next morning to a quiet rustling and when he rolled over, he saw that Castiel was standing in the bathroom with the door open, buttoning up his shirt, the collar still popped. He hadn't done anything with his hair yet, judging by the way it was sticking up in the front and his belt was threaded through his trousers but was hanging loose, buckle clinking against his thigh with each of his subtle movements. 

Needless to say, Dean had woken up to worst images. He slowly rolled out of bed, tousled his hair until it felt something akin to normal and rolled his shoulders, listening to the joints in his back pop. Apparently not even memory foam could cure that. 

“Morning,” he called out, stifling a yawn against his forearm. 

“Good morning Dean,” Castiel replied, grabbing his tie from somewhere out of sight and draping it around his neck. “Did you sleep well?”

“Damn right. Gotta love memory foam,” he said, patting the bed lovingly. He could see Cas smile a bit as he tied his tie, the motions of his fingers apparently automatic. It took a moment for Dean to realize what was different about the picture and then he snapped his fingers as a bolt of recognition hit him. 

“Did you actually switch it up a bit?” he asked. Castiel glanced over at him, brow furrowed in confusion, before staring down at the tie he still held in his hands. It was a dark red, rather than the customary blue. 

“I don't wear this one very often,” he said, smoothing the fabric with one hand. “Anna got it for me for Christmas. Her opinion on my clothes quite resembles yours.” 

“Well, they do say great minds think alike,” Dean chuckled, standing up and giving his shoulders another experimental roll, popping out the rest of the kinks. 

“Yes, they do say that,” Cas said, exiting the bathroom, fully dressed except for his jacket, which was still draped over his trench coat on the back of the plastic chair. From the looks of it, he was going to forgo both of his outer layers and Dean actually had to shake his head. The time away from Hollywood was apparently doing Cas better than he'd imagined. His phone dinged and he picked it up off of the night stand. He had a picture message from Jess and when he opened it, it was an image of a plate piled high with eggs, bacon and pancakes. 

_Hurry up or Sammy is gonna eat this all on you :P_

Dean didn't think that he'd ever gotten ready so fast. 

When they arrived at the apartment, Dean could smell the bacon from the second floor landing. The front door of the apartment was open and when he walked in, Sam was sitting on the couch, eating a plate that looked almost identical to the one depicted in the image Jess had sent. 

“I swear to God Sammy, if-”

“Calm down Dean, there's still some for you too,” Jess called from the kitchen. Sure enough, when Dean walked in, the remaining half of the cherry pie was sitting on the counter beside a plate that was practically overflowing with food. The kitchen smelled absolutely heavenly and even though crafts services usually put a pretty damn good spread on, there was no way in hell they could ever beat home cooked breakfast. 

“Sammy, if you don't marry this girl, I just might!” he yelled into the living room. Jess snorted and rolled her eyes before handing him another plate laden down with breakfast. 

“That one's for Cas,” she said, throwing more bacon in the pan, presumably for herself. Balancing both plates plus utensils and the pie pan carefully in his arms, he made his way into the living room, where Castiel had claimed the armchair once more and was already settled into conversation with Sam, who was adding input in between massive bites of his breakfast. 

“Dean told me that you have some good horror films,” he said humbly, accepting his plate with a brief smile. “The ones we watched last night were terrible.” 

“Yeah, I've got a few classics,” Sammy said, mopping up the yolk from his eggs with a piece of toast. “Ever see _The Shining_?” 

“It sounds religious,” Castiel said, glancing over at the DVD shelf beside the television. Dean chuckled from his spot beside Sam, elbowing his brother in the ribs so that he had a little more room. 

“It's 'bout the furthest thing from religious you can get. We're definitely watching it.” 

“Can we wait until after breakfast?” Jess asked as she walked in, her plate full as well. “Horror movies and eggs don't really go together.” 

“Sure.” Dean moved over to the very edge of the couch so that Jess could squeeze in between him and Sam. Castiel was methodically eating, picking up the bacon with his fingers and dropping it into his mouth. His plate was cleared in less than five minutes and he sat it on the coffee table, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out. 

“Thank you very much for breakfast, Ms. Moore,” he said, sighing happily. “It was definitely better than the buffet they offer on set.” 

“I don't know if I believe that, but I'll take it,” she said, practically beaming. Sam leaned over to kiss her cheek and she blushed bright red. Part of Dean wanted to tell them to get a room, while the other half of him wanted to tell them to get married already. In the end, he didn't say anything; he just smiled and finished the food, which was just as delicious as Cas had said it was. 

Once they had all finished eating, Sam popped the movie in and turned off the lights. Dean wasn't exactly sure how it happened but around the halfway point of the film, Jess climbed into Sam's lap so that Castiel had enough room to fit on the couch as well. It was definitely a tight squeeze and sure, it might have gotten a little bit uncomfortable after awhile but regardless, Dean liked it. Castiel didn't seem to mind it either and it occurred that Dean that he'd probably _never_ had an experience like this, never had a normal day of just relaxing and watching movies with his family. Castiel's hands started out clasped in his lap but eventually, his arms ended up stretched out across the back of the couch. The fingertips of his left hand grazed against Dean's shoulder every so often, catching against the fabric of his shirt but every time it happened, he hastily withdrew, awkwardly smiling as a silent apology. But within ten minutes, like clockwork, they were back again. This continued all through the movie, which Castiel quite enjoyed and, after a brief half hour break where the four of them got discussing the possible symbolism of the film, it kept going through _The Ring_. It had been awhile since Dean had seen the film and he had to admit, there were a few moments where he jumped. 

But for most of the film, he wasn't paying attention to anything more than Castiel's hand. After only a few moments of the movie, his fingertips had stopped roaming and he'd stopped jerking them away. Rather, they stayed exactly where they were, just barely brushing along Dean's shoulder. As the tension in the film started to get more and more intense, they actually started twisting in the fabric, pulling it tight against Dean's skin. It made being scared rather difficult, because all Dean could focus on was that tiny spot of contact. He swallowed and glanced sideways, trying to see if he could determine whether or not the action was deliberate. Sam and Jess were both staring at the screen; Dean knew that they'd seen the movie at least once but Jess was still clutching Sam's arm fiercely, her eyes huge and wide. Castiel had much the same look on his face. He was obviously completely fixated on the movie, to the point of hardly blinking. When the tension finally broke, his grip on Dean's shirt loosened but did not completely vanish. For the rest of the film, that cycle continued: as the music got more and more ominous, Cas' grip got tighter and tighter. 

By the end of the movie, Dean wasn't entirely sure how his shirt wasn't ripped. As Jess got up and turned the lights on in the living room, Castiel stood up as well, rolling his shoulder blades and his neck. Dean wasn't sure how to feel about it, but truthfully, he missed the contact, even if it had been nothing more than Castiel dealing with his terror.

It was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon or, as Dean knew it, high time for lunch. The consensus was made that ordering two extra-large pizzas (with breadsticks and some kind of garden salad, because Sammy was weird and obviously didn't appreciate good food) would be sufficient for lunch and dinner. When their delivery arrived, Castiel was the first person to get to the door and, despite the protests of both Dean and Sam, proceeded to pay for the food. Based on the exuberant look on the pizza boy's face, Castiel had also given him a larger than average tip on top of the payment for the pizzas. 

“Cas, are you going to let me pay for anything this weekend?” Dean asked, scooping the food from Castiel's arms. 

“Probably not.” Castiel returned to the couch, where Jess started asking him about the writing process while Dean caught Sam's eyes and shrugged. 

“No complaints here,” he muttered when they entered the kitchen, dropping the stacks of cardboard boxes onto the counter. “Now are you gonna eat some pizza like a normal person or eat like a rabbit?”

***

After they finished lunch, Jess had to meet some of her classmates at the library to work on a school project for a few hours. Dean offered to drive her but before they left the apartment, Castiel's phone went off. He frowned down at the number for a moment, but it was a different frown than when the screenwriters had called; this was more of confusion, rather than annoyance.

“It's Gabriel,” he said aloud, flipping his phone open on the third or fourth ring. “Gabriel, why are you calling me?” The conversation was quick and mostly onesided and when Castiel flipped his phone shut with a click, he sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair. 

“Could I have a ride as well?” he asked. “Gabriel wants me to meet him on campus.” There was a parking lot directly in front of the library so Dean parked the Impala there, telling Jess that he'd come back to pick her up whenever she was ready. From their spot, Dean could see Gabriel across the lawn, alternating between eating candy, checking his watch and making eyes at seemingly everyone who walked by. Castiel made to open the door but, without really thinking the action through, Dean leaned over and grabbed Castiel's shoulder, making him stop with his fingers still on the handle. 

“If... um,” he started. What the hell was he doing? This wasn't any of his business at all. But Castiel was looking at him expectantly so he cleared his throat and made another attempt. “If you need me to come pick you up early or anythin,' just lemme know.” Cas quickly flashed a close-mouthed smile in his direction, which Dean took as his cue to remove his hand. 

“I should be able to deal with him for a few hours,” he sighed, glancing over at where his half-brother was loitering. “Let me know when you're coming back for Jessica and I will make sure I'm here.” He smiled again before sliding out of the car, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers. Although he looked way more comfortable with less layers on, Dean still couldn't get over how _strange_ the sight was. It was a weird thought but it was almost like the trench coat (and even the suit jacket, to a lesser extent) made him a different person, like it separated him from his identity as Castiel, the slightly eccentric but incredibly interesting man and his identity as Mr. Milton, the reclusive best-selling author who really wasn't much of a recluse at all. 

Or maybe it was just the absence of the blue tie. Either way, Dean was positive that he liked Castiel better than he liked Mr. Milton. 

The rest of the afternoon went by nicely. Sure, him and Sam had had their differences in the past and some of those differences had never really been hashed out but there was no point in wasting a weekend attempting to deal with them. So rather than bring up old wounds that were still open below the surface, Dean just let himself have a good day with his brother. They watched an old Sylvester Stallone movie (and promptly got into a fight about who was the greatest action hero of all time), they ate a lot of pizza and when they reminisced, they avoided all the painful stuff. 

“Do you remember that time we saw that paparazzo get punched in the face?” Sam asked, picking aimlessly at the remnants of his salad. 

“Oh, yeah!” Dean said, the memory coming back to him abruptly. It had been a long time ago, just after they'd moved in with Bobby and his wife Ellen. Him and Sam had been wandering around one evening and just happened to walk by a hotel where some famous singer was staying. There was a cluster of reporters and members of the paparazzi hanging around outside, fiddling aimless with their cameras, obviously bored. Him and Sam had been checking it out from across the street for a few moments, just for the hell of it, when the singer had walked out and, in the path to his chauffeured car, had promptly decked one of the paparazzos straight in the face. Later on, Dean heard that the singer had actually broken the guy's nose and, when he'd fallen, his camera had apparently smashed, although Dean didn't really know if he believed that the damage had been so bad.

“That was hilarious,” he chuckled, replaying the memory in his head. Sam smiled but it was obvious that there was something more serious going on his brain. After a few minutes of waiting for him to just spit it out, Dean sat his cup of coffee down on the table and poked Sam sharply in the shoulder. 

“Alright, what is it?” he asked. “What's got you thinking so hard?”

“Dean, are you going to stay there for the rest of your life?”

“What do you mean, like in the city?” Sam nodded and let his huge hands drop to his knees, which were bouncing up and down. “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Sam sighed, taking a huge gulp from his own cup of coffee. “So long as you're happy, man.” 

“I am,” Dean snapped. He immediately regretted it; he knew that Sam was just trying to look out for him but he couldn't help but resent it, just a bit. He was supposed to be the one looking out for his brother, not the other way around. Sam had more important things to worry about. Thankfully, before anything escalated further, Dean felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He had a text from Jess saying that she was about to wrap up so he quickly called Castiel; he was pretty sure that texting him would have been a recipe for disaster. 

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey man, I'm about to go pick up Jess, you ready?” 

“More than ready.” Dean could hear Gabriel babbling in the background about something or another and he really, really felt sorry for Castiel. “I'll meet you there.” He hung up before Dean could say anything else and he simply shrugged before tucking his phone back into his pocket. 

“Sammy, I'm sorry 'bout snapping,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Sam shrugged, continuing to poke his salad with his fork. 

“It's fine, man. I just want you to think 'bout yourself sometimes, that's all.” Dean had no idea how to respond to what was, admittedly, a nice sentiment so he simply nodded and grabbed his car keys. When he arrived back at the school, snagging the only free spot in the parking lot of the library, Castiel and Jessica were sitting side by side on the steps of the building, having what appeared to be a very animated conversation. When they noticed Dean and stood up, Castiel took Jessica's armful of books from her. 

“Dean, please tell him that he needs to start his next book as soon as possible,” she said as they approached the car. 

“Please tell Ms. Moore that I will start my next book as soon as I am done with this film,” he said in response, climbing into the back seat of the car. “It's hard enough to deal with that project without concentrating on another.” 

“He does have a good point,” Dean said, resulting in Jessica lightly punching him in the arm. He feigned shock before pulling out, narrowly avoiding a SUV that was speeding by. “Damn student drivers,” he muttered, barely resisting the urge to flip the jackass off. 

“So, Castiel, _do_ you have any ideas for your next book yet?” Jess said once they were on the road, twisting around as far as she could with a seat belt wrapped around her, going right back to their conversation. “Or are they super exclusive author secrets that I'm not allowed to know?” Quickly glancing up into the rear view mirror, Dean saw the confused look cross Castiel's face before he realized that Jess wasn't being completely serious. 

“I have a few ideas,” he said. “There's one in particular that I think I will focus on, however.” 

“Oh? What is it?” 

“I... I want to write about an angel who chooses to fall and become a human,” he said and although Dean couldn't risk looking away from the road (stupid students who couldn't drive), he was positive that Castiel sounded unsure of himself, like he was afraid of being judged. He had a feeling that part of it was that people didn't really ask him about his ideas with such enthusiasm, aside from Anna. Sure, there were the talk show hosts and everything else but Cas never had to face them. Dean figured that was probably a good thing, really; knowing Castiel's tolerance for fake people, he had a feeling that one of those shows would have ended in outright disaster. Beside, Anna didn't seem to mind. 

“Is it going to be a sequel to your first one?” Jess asked, drumming her fingers eagerly off of the leather seat. 

“I don't think so. I just like writing about angels,” Castiel replied. 

“Well, people seem to like reading about them too,” Dean said, pointedly poking Jessica. She punched him again (with a little more force this time) and turned around in her seat. Her phone quickly distracted her and, judging from the speed of her typing and the frown on her face, it was something important. In the silence that followed, Dean really wanted to ask Castiel how his meeting with Gabriel had been; from the quick glances he was able to get every minute or so, Castiel wasn't giving anything away with his expression. He was simply staring out the window, fingers resting against the window sill. But he didn't really want to upset the man and if the response was negative, he didn't want to make the car ride an awkward experience. So he waited until they had gotten back and Jess had started up the stairs before asking, doing his best to appear absolutely casual. 

“So, things with your brother went okay?” Castiel shrugged, something he seemed to be doing more and more often. Dean couldn't help but hold himself partially responsible for that. 

“Fine. Gabriel has always been difficult to deal with for long periods of time. He seems to think I'm incapable of dealing with people. It's not the first time I've told him I'm not incompetent but I fear he's so determined to be a good brother that he won't listen to me, again.” 

“I think that it comes with the big brother territory,” Dean said, making his way up the stairs. “I'm sure that if you asked Sammy, he'd say the same thing 'bout me.” As they reached the second landing, Dean stopped and turned around, struck by a sudden thought. 

“Gabriel _is_ your big brother, right? Cause it'd be weird if he was younger than you.” 

“Rest assured, Gabriel is older than me, by five years. Even I find it hard to believe sometimes.” Dean could definitely understand why Castiel would say that. When they finally reached Sam and Jess' apartment, they were already on the couch again, Jess back in his lap, a bowl of popcorn perched precariously on her thigh, DVD already in the machine. 

“We're taking a break from horror movies,” Jess said. “And since I got back up here first, I got to pick the movie.” Sam had finally finished skipping through the previews and the menu of the DVD showed that Jess had picked _The Breakfast Club_ as their next flick. Dean couldn't even pretend to be upset over the turn of events; there had been a few years in his teens where he'd been embarrassed about his love of John Hughes' movies but he'd quickly grown out of it. As it was, it'd been awhile since he'd seen the movie and as soon as he kicked off his boots, he dropped down onto the squishy couch, claiming the middle seat for himself. Once Castiel had removed his shoes, neatly placing them on the mat beside the door, he joined them, sliding into the spot beside Dean. Less than five minutes into the movie, Jess shifted so that her legs were stretched across Sam's lap and into Dean's. Dean took the opportunity to tickle her foot and, after nearly getting kicked in the face and getting chastised by Sam, he draped his arms across the back of the couch so that Jess could see he had no more plans of tickling her. 

Of course, due to the position, he realized that his hands were in almost the exact same spot as Castiel's were only hours before. The man's dark hair tickled against his knuckles but when Dean shifted, trying to find a position for his fingers that didn't cause goosebumps to flare up on his arms, he ended up grazing the back of Castiel's neck. The man stiffened for a long second and Dean could see from the glaze in his eyes that, despite the fact he was looking at the television, he wasn't actually processing the images on the screen. He'd fucked things up, no doubt about it and he twitched his wrist, making a move to put his hand back in his lap or somewhere else where it wouldn't be awkward. 

Before he had a chance to withdraw his hand completely, the tension abruptly went out of Castiel's shoulders and he leaned back, essentially trapping Dean's fingers on the back of his neck. It looked like he was very deliberately avoiding eye contact but even his mouth had relaxed a bit; he wasn't _quite_ smiling but his lips were quirked up just the slightest. Dean had a feeling that, by the time the movie had finished, his hand was probably going to be numb but he just couldn't be bothered to move it. His stomach was twisting slightly, in a way that had nothing to do with how pretty Molly Ringwald was. Dean had always considered someone's neck to be a pretty intimate zone, something you didn't touch unless you were hot for the person, something you didn't let someone else touch unless you absolutely wanted them to. 

Castiel was showing no signs of wanting to move and Dean wasn't quite sure how to process that information. For a half hour span of time, he managed to pay attention to the movie, teasing Sammy about his ability to quote every line, despite the fact he could do the same thing, laughing when Jess mussed up her hair so that it was like Ally Sheedy's. But then everyone got quiet again and Castiel shifted a little bit, just enough so that Dean's hand was free, in a sense. However, instead of being pressed against the back of his neck, his hand was now resting on the side of Castiel's throat. He could feel the pulse thrumming underneath his pale skin, could feel the raised bumps of his stubble. He knew he should have pulled his hand away, should have plopped it into his lap or dropped it over the back of the couch, should have done _anything_ that wasn't so dangerous. But truthfully, he'd never been one for playing it completely safe so he let his hand press harder against Castiel's skin, making it quite clear that his touch was on purpose. 

Castiel coughed once and then Dean could feel his vocal cords vibrating against his skin, even though he wasn't speaking. When he leaned a little closer, he could just barely hear him underneath the soundtrack of the movie. 

Cas was _humming_. He stopped after a few moments but Dean couldn't stop the stupid grin from sticking to his face. He knew this was stupid, was _such_ a stupid idea but he was happy, Cas seemed happy and really, that was what mattered. Nonetheless, he didn't press his luck any further; he wasn't ready for that, especially since Sam and Jess were right beside him. He simply let his hand stay where it was; occasionally, he would twitch his fingers subtly but that was it. By the time they finished _The Breakfast Club_ , the second of their huge pizzas had been consumed and it was starting to get dark outside. Dean really didn't want to go back to the hotel (for a number of reasons) but he wanted to get all packed up so that they could check out early in the morning and leave straight from Sam's apartment. So, wriggling himself out from underneath Jess' feet and reluctantly removing his hand from Castiel's neck, he told his brother that he'd be back in the morning and that he expected bacon. Castiel said his goodbyes as well and then it was only the two of them, making their way down the rickety stairs once again, silent aside from their footsteps. 

Dean wasn't sure if he was supposed to say anything. Was he supposed to bring it up? Had it been an accident? Was Cas sorry that it happened? All these questions and more were fermenting in his head, making him emotional in ways he wasn't accustomed to. Castiel didn't _look_ that miserable; if Dean was being honest with himself, the author looked happier than he'd ever seen him. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. 

His head hurt. Nothing that a few beer couldn't fix. 

He picked up another six pack on the way back to the motel and cracked open the first one as soon as they were back in the room. He silently offered one to Castiel, who took it with a quick smile and a nod. Packing only took a few minutes and then they were right back to square one. Dean was sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard, toying with his watch. Castiel had gone into the washroom to change and when he came back out, he was wearing a loose gray t-shirt and the same sweatpants from the night before. Dean hadn't noticed the night before but they sat far enough down Castiel's hips that there was a gap of skin between the hem of his shirt and the drawstring of the pants. Nonetheless, it was still a relatively tame sight. 

Relatively being the key word. 

“Did you wanna see what's on tv?” Dean asked, clearing his throat. It'd been so long since he'd said anything of value that his throat actually felt quite dry. 

“Sure.” Castiel picked his beer up from where he'd left it on top of the dresser and took a long swallow, the action exposing the long column of his neck. Dean forced himself to focus on the remote, pressing the buttons with more force than was probably necessary. There was no denying the truth of Gabriel's comment, not after the incident on the couch. Even if he hadn't said _got it bad_ (and that seemed unlikely, given his propensity for comments of that nature), the statement was becoming more and more truthful with each passing moment. He gave his head a quick shake and finally settled on the channel from the night before. It was still doing a movie marathon but based on the quick blurb from the commercial, the theme of the night was action flicks from the eighties. Now this was a category he could get into. He toed his socks off, got his pillows adjusted and grinned as soon as he saw that the movie that was already in progress starred Patrick Swayze. 

Maybe the night wouldn't be as torturous as he expected. 

He drank four beers to Castiel's two and sure, it didn't really do much to phase him, but it was enough alcohol to start giving him reckless ideas. Some of those ideas were much easier to identify and hold back than others but it was one of those other ideas, one of the more pervasive thoughts, that finally sprang to his mind around midnight. Castiel had been sitting on his bed for the entire time, looking like he was spending too much time in his head and Dean had to admit, after the close contact from earlier, it was weird to be so far apart. 

So, although he knew that he really should have thought the whole thing through more, he scooted over until he was on one side of the bed before patting the mattress beside him, trying his best to keep his attention mostly upon the screen. After a few moments, Castiel's bed squeaked and then he was sitting down beside him, crossing his legs. Rather than leaning back against the headboard or being propped up by the pillows, he was sitting up straight, hands resting in his lap. Part of his tattoo was showing above the collar of his shirt, the ink spilling across the top of his back and up the knobs of his spinal cord. Part of Dean, a part that was increasingly hard to ignore, wanted to trace those beautifully intricate lines, wanted to memorize them with his fingertips and, maybe one day, with his tongue. 

Bad thoughts. Those were thoughts he didn't want to have sober, let alone drunk. He put his hands back into his lap and determinedly ignored the fact that they wanted to go wandering. Halfway through the next movie, Castiel finally leaned back against the headboard, slouching down. It was obvious that he was getting tired and truthfully, Dean felt the same way. It'd been a good day but a long one and he needed to go to sleep. 

“Cas,” he muttered, gently giving him a shove. “Cas, I'm gonna go to bed.” 

“Sorry,” he murmured, sitting upright, his cheeks red at the edges. “I didn't realize how tired I was getting.” 

“It's fine man. I'll see you in the morning, alright?” 

“Okay. Goodnight Dean.” On his way over to the bed, Castiel flicked off the overhead light and then he collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to get under the blankets. Dean turned down the television but left it on for background noise. He was asleep within minutes but it felt like only moments later that he was opening his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling. The room was just starting to fill with tendrils of gray light, seeping through the nearly translucent curtains. Apparently he hadn't been the only one who'd slept poorly; Castiel was sitting at the table, slowly typing into his phone, still dressed in the clothes he'd slept in. He finished his text message and flipped it shut, stifling a yawn into his forearm before his eyes caught Dean's. 

“Good morning,” he said, standing up and stretching. “I know it's early but I couldn't sleep any longer.”

“Same here.” Dean sat up in bed and ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. He'd fallen asleep without brushing them, which was a mistake he had to rectify immediately. Castiel pulled the curtains aside and looked out the window, drumming his fingers on the table. Dean knew that the view wasn't anything special, just the parking lot and the road beyond, so Castiel had to be looking at something else. He decided not to pursue it, curious as he was. If Cas wanted to talk about it, he'd talk. 

“I'm going to miss it here,” he finally said as Dean started rooting through his duffel back for a pair of clean socks. “Despite it being a city, it's still... much more relaxed here, than in Los Angeles.” 

“Yeah, it's not bad,” he agreed, fishing his dirty socks out from underneath the bed and jamming them into his bag. “Don't know if I'd ever want to settle down here but it ain't too bad, all things considered.” 

“Where _do_ you want to settle down?” Cas turned his torso away from the window, although his fingers were still tapping along the surface of the table. His gaze was actually disconcerting and Dean couldn't keep eye contact for very long. Despite the fact that he'd been practically caressing the guy's neck only twelve or so hours before (and that was an issue they still needed to talk about, somehow), it felt too intimate, having Castiel, a man he'd only been friends with for a few weeks, asking where he wanted to settle down, when everything was said and done. 

“I dunno,” he finally mumbled, mentally kicking himself for sounding so idiotic. “Definitely not the city though. Somewhere small. Just need to get the money saved up for it.”

“I understand what you mean,” Castiel said, walking away from the window towards where his outfit for the day was neatly folded on top of the dresser. “I can't work in the city. It's too loud, too distracting. I think that if I hadn't found my cabin, I never would have been able to write anything.” He chuckled but the sound had almost no amusement in it. “Perhaps that would have been a blessing.” Dean didn't know what to say to that so he simply stood up and clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder, making the other man jump slightly. 

“Let's just have a good time with Jess and Sam, 'kay? Then we can get miserable about going back to our shitty jobs.” He was pretty sure it was one of the shittiest attempts at levity he'd ever tried but nonetheless, it still seemed to work. By the time he finished getting dressed and brushing his teeth hard enough to get the beer taste out of his mouth, Castiel was fully dressed and completely repacked. Although his trench coat was draped over his arm, he was back in his black jacket and blue tie. He was returning back to Mr. Milton mode and Dean couldn't help but sigh to himself. The weekend had been good, it had been a vacation that they'd both desperately needed but now, they were on their way back to the real world and he knew that things were going to be completely different. 

“You ready to blow this joint?” Castiel took one last glance around the room, lingering over the objects of furniture like he was photographing them. Maybe he was, in his own special way. 

“Yes. Let's go.”


	11. I got your runaway smile in my piggybank, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter comes from Heels Over Head by Boys Like Girls. xo.

When they got to Jess and Sam's apartment, Sam was just rolling out of bed. Jess hadn't stirred yet and truthfully, Dean didn't blame her. Waking up at seven on a Sunday wasn't generally his idea of fun either. His brother was nearly incoherent, even when he mumbled good morning so Dean waited until they had a pot of coffee ready before attempting even basic conversation. Dean took over the cooking of breakfast, leaving Sam and Castiel to talk in the living room and he'd just put the bacon into the frying pan when Jess came out into the kitchen, yawning widely. She was still in her pajama shorts and a t-shirt that was a little too short for everyday wear but when Dean winked at her, she was still awake enough to shove him pretty hard. 

“Go away Winchester,” she groaned, grabbing a cup of coffee for herself. “And don't you dare burn that bacon.” 

“Scout's honor,” Dean said, mock-saluting her. He got another groan in response and he couldn't help but smirk; apparently he hadn't been the only one who hadn't slept for very long. When Sammy walked into the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, he nudged his little brother, jerked his chin towards where he could see Jess sitting on the couch and wiggled his eyebrows in a way that Gabriel would have been proud of. It took Sam a moment but then he was turning bright pink and Dean was laughing from his stomach, laughing way harder than was appropriate for such an early hour. 

“Good on you Sam,” he said once he stopped laughing, slapping Sam's back. Sam just rolled his eyes, muttered _jerk_ under his breath and started getting plates out of the cabinet. Dean glanced back into the living room, where Jess had apparently woken up enough to be having a semi-animated conversation with Castiel, who was tilting his head, face contorted in that quizzical manner Dean had practically memorized. 

Castiel definitely wasn't the only one who was going to miss Stanford.

***

After their breakfast, there was only so long that they could put off leaving. Once the dishes were done and the pizza boxes were thrown out, there was nothing else to do but say goodbye. Dean pulled Sam into a bone-crushing hug, thumping him on the back hard enough to leave a bruise. Sam promised to come see him soon, once he had a break or a free weekend, which Dean knew wouldn't happen for at least a month. Cas was talking to Jessica and although Dean only caught a few snippets of their conversation, it sounded like he was promising to send her a copy of the manuscript for his next book, whenever that happened. She pulled him into a tight hug and Dean couldn't help but snicker when it obviously took Castiel by surprise. When she let go of him, she turned to Dean, immediately yanking him into a hug as well. Dean thought he felt one of his ribs shift a few inches; the girl was really strong.

“Take care of yourself Dean,” she said against his shoulder. Her curly hair was tickling his neck and his nose and he had to try very hard not to sneeze. 

“Always do. You take care of Sammy, alright?”

“Always do,” she said, echoing his words back at him. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and with that, him and Castiel were off, making their way down the rickety stairs again. He really was going to miss the place, even if he felt like he was going to break his neck every time he went down the wobbly stairs. As soon as Castiel slid into the passenger seat of the Impala, he undid the buttons on his jacket and tossed it into the back seat. He left the sleeves of his button-up rolled down but nonetheless, it was still a start.

“I'd like to come back here some day,” he said, staring up at the apartment as Dean started up the car. “Sam and Jessica are good people.”

“Yep, they really are,” Dean said, pulling out onto the street. “I'm just waitin' for the wedding invitation, any time now. I'm sure you'll be getting one too,” he chuckled, glancing sideways as he quickly slid a tape into the deck. “Jess seems to have taken a real shine to you.” 

“She understood the book better than most that I've spoken to,” he said thoughtfully. “It was nice to talk to her about it.” AC/DC started blaring through the speakers and Dean felt completely responsible for the way Castiel's face lit up at the sound of the guitar. His fingers started tapping on the door, instinctively seeking out the beat. With the windows rolled down, there was a good breeze coming in and when Dean glanced over again once they were out of the city (and away from all the shitty student drivers), Castiel's hair was all sorts of messed up. It was sticking up in unruly, comical tufts but if despite how silly it may have looked, Dean thought it made the author look younger, more relaxed. When side A of the tape finished, Dean rewound it and let it play again and this time, he could see that Cas was starting to sing along, mouthing the words silently like he was unsure of himself. 

Dean knew they had a lot of shit to talk about still. The incident on the couch still needed to be addressed, needed to be figured out but he knew that now wasn't the time; not when Castiel was singing along to Dean's music and flashing him the most perfect, genuine smile whenever he caught his eye. Now was not that time. 

Dean knew that if Gabriel had been with them, he would have been laughing hysterically but then Castiel grinned at him again and Dean quickly put Cas' skeezy brother out of his mind.

***

They stopped for a bite to eat at the same diner they'd stopped at on the way to Stanford. The conversation was slightly more stilted than it had been but overall, things were still going fairly good. The diner had key lime pie this go around and although it wasn't really one of Dean's favorites, he had to buy a slice once Castiel said he'd never had it. As soon as it arrived at the table, Cas sliced off a hunk with his fork and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, like he was mulling over a damn math problem or something and Dean waited to see what his reaction was before he took a bite for himself.

Before he knew it, Cas was sticking another piece in his mouth and Dean was spluttering _you bastard_ , trying to keep a poker face even while Castiel was smiling like a complete and utter idiot. In the end, they got two pieces of pie but Dean was pretty sure that Castiel got most of the second piece as well. And although Castiel managed to get his credit card out first, Dean managed to slap down a five dollar tip with only a small glare sent his way from Castiel. Then they were back on the road and Dean was switching tapes, going from AC/DC to one of the mix tapes he'd gotten one of the bartenders at the Roadhouse to make for him. The humidity was growing more and more oppressive the closer they got to the city and after only a few songs had gone by, the top two buttons of Castiel's shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His tie was flapping loosely against his chest and part of Dean really wished that he would just take the damn thing off. 

The other half really hoped that didn't happen, because he was already distracted enough and getting in a car crash wasn't really on his bucket list. 

It was just after four o'clock in the afternoon once they reached the city limits and the rush hour traffic was just starting. He knew a number of side streets that would quicken the journey but just getting to one of those was going to take awhile so he leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. It was then that he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was dropping Castiel off and he cleared his throat, stirring the author from what had looked like a thoughtful staring session out the window. 

“Did you, uhm...” Getting the words out was proving to be much harder than he had expected and he cleared his throat again, hoping that the few extra seconds would give him more confidence. “Did you want to come back to my place tonight or should I drop you off at your hotel?” 

“I have to meet the screenwriters early tomorrow morning,” he said, smiling apologetically and although Dean had seen a lot of fake smiles in Hollywood, he could tell that this one was one hundred percent genuine. “I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. Also, Anna is still in town and I'd like to have dinner with her before she leaves again.”

“That's fine by me, man. Just gimme the name of your hotel and I will get you there as soon as I can.” 

That turned out to be thirty-five minutes later. Castiel was staying in a rather nondescript place that was fairly close to the studio but wasn't on any of the major tourist trap routes. Nonetheless, despite the rather plain, stucco facade and the neon sign that was starting to fade out, Dean knew that it probably cost more than a pretty penny to stay there, especially since Castiel had been there for nigh on a month. Once they pulled up into the parking lot, which was filled with rather forgettable cars (one of which was probably Castiel's, Dean reminded himself), he popped the trunk and stepped outside, turning off the Impala first. Castiel had put his jacket and his trench coat back on, probably so that it was easier to carry his bags, but Dean had no idea how he wasn't melting just standing on the pavement. When he glanced down the street, which seemed to be populated mostly by other little hotels, Dean felt like he was staring directly into a mirage. 

“Do you need any help carrying stuff in?” he asked, pulling his sleeve down over his hand so that he could shut the trunk without burning himself on the blisteringly hot metal. 

“I should be okay,” Castiel said, slinging his duffel over his shoulder and draping his suit bag over his outstretched arms. His hair was still completely mussed up and before Dean could stop himself, he reached out and attempted to smooth down his friend's hair. The attempt was only semi-successful; the front still insisted on sticking straight up but the top at least was flattened out. As soon as the action was done, Dean withdrew his hand and stuck it in his pocket, feeling like an absolute jackass. 

“Look like an author now,” he muttered under his breath, staring directly down at the cracked pavement. Castiel chuckled and suddenly there was a noisy shifting of bags and his fingers were in Dean's hair, tousling it until Dean could feel it sticking up as well. 

“If I look like an author, so do you,” he said. There was a tinge of pink high on his cheekbones and he shifted his belongings around again so that his suit bag wasn't dragging on the ground. “I'll see you soon Dean. I have a feeling production will be back up in a few days.” 

“See you later.”

Even with the music blaring louder than was probably acceptable, the drive back to his apartment felt too quiet. Sure, there had been long stretches of time where him and Castiel hadn't even spoken but just to have someone else with him, to hear them breathing and shifting had made the long ride better. It was even worse that night. He'd planned on going to sleep rather early; between the long stretches of driving and the sun exposure, he was damn tired. But the instant he collapsed on his bed, he couldn't sleep. His mattress was comfy enough (though he sure as hell missed that memory foam) and he'd missed his own pillow but it was just too damn quiet. Castiel hadn't been a noisy sleeper or anything but he'd still made _some_ noise and it wasn't until Dean couldn't hear those noises anymore that he realized just how nice it had been to fall asleep to them. 

He ended up passing out on his couch at two in the morning, _The Breakfast Club_ playing in the background. When he woke up, it was to his cell phone going off on the floor beside the couch. Without bothering to open his eyes any wider than a sliver, he picked it up and answered it without bothering to look at the caller ID. 

“What?”

“What're you still sleepin' for?” Dean groaned; it didn't matter how many times it happened, waking up to Uncle Bobby's voice was never an ideal way to start his morning. 

“It's my day off,” he mumbled, tempted to hang up and go right back to sleep. 

“Day off or not, I've got some stuff I need some help with 'round here. So get up. I'll buy you beer.” 

“Fine, fine, I'm up,” Dean said, swinging his feet off the couch and sitting up. “I'll be there soon, alright?” He hung up and scratched at his eyes, trying to rub away the sleep gunk that had accumulated there. His back was sore from being scrunched up all night and the top of his mouth was dry. 

The day was just starting out wonderfully. 

He got over to Bobby and Ellen's house around eleven and sure enough, the old man was out in the driveway, tinkering around under the hood of a rusty pick-up that Dean was pretty sure had celebrated more birthdays than he'd had. The thing looked like it would completely fall apart if you so much as booted it and although part of Dean, the part that really hated being woken up by his phone, wanted to do just that, he managed to resist kicking the thing. 

“Where the hell did you find this scrap heap?” he asked, barely biting back a laugh as Bobby cursed at something underneath the hood. Bobby stood back up, his face streaked with oil and dirt. The baseball cap on his head had been embroidered with an insignia at some point but now it was so old and faded that Dean didn't have the slightest clue what it might have been. He was wearing the same car-fixing jeans he'd had for years and he still didn't know how Aunt Ellen hadn't got a hold of the things and trashed them. There were frayed threads and grease stains and holes everywhere but Bobby always wore them when he was working on a car and Dean didn't question it. 

“Someone had it parked in their driveway, wanted three hundred bucks for it,” he said, wiping his hands on his already filthy jeans. “Figured might as well try and fix 'er, get some money out of it.” Aside from his primary job doing set construction, Bobby spent most of his spare time attempting to fix up and sell old junkers. If he couldn't fix them, he sold them for scrap. 

“Why do I have a feelin' that isn't going so well?” Dean asked, peering down at the engine. He couldn't see anything inherently wrong just from glancing at it, aside from the fact that it was obviously old as hell and had a little bit of rust on it. 

“Something's wrong with the motor. Keeps flooding for some godforsaken reason.” He turned his head and looked pointedly at Dean, who simply groaned and looked down at his shirt. He knew exactly what that look meant. 

“Dude, this is one of my good shirts,” he said, which was mostly true. He was pretty sure he'd gotten it for five bucks at an army surplus store (or maybe it was one of Sam's) but still, he didn't really want another one of his shirts getting covered in oil. 

“Don't 'dude' me, boy. Think there's still some of your clothes in there, ask Ellen.” Bobby stuck his head back underneath the hood, muttering to himself while Dean headed inside, taking his shoes off as soon as he got in the door. It'd been nearly four years since he'd moved out on his own but he still remembered the rules of his aunt and uncle's house just fine. 

“Aunt Ellen, you home?” 

“Dean?” His aunt poked her head out of the living room, her reading glasses perched on her nose. His aunt was a beautiful woman with a wonderful smile who only came up to his chin but Dean knew better than to let that fool him; she was also tough as nails and all too capable of putting anyone in their place, including Bobby. 

“You still have any of my shirts round here?” he asked, making his way down the hallway so that he could give her a hug. It'd only been a week or so since he'd seen her down at The Roadhouse, the bar she ran, but she was always much nicer and less on edge when she wasn't working behind the bar. 

“Think I cut a few of them up for rags. Only the really filthy ones though,” she said, cutting Dean off just as he was about to express outrage. “Should be a few more of them in the hall closest if you wanna go look. Is he making you fix that car for him?”

“He's certainly going to try,” Dean said, giving her a quick peck on the top of the head before he started rummaging in the hall closet. There were three or four of his shirts and an old pair of jeans tucked underneath a pile of sheets and he changed into the grungiest one he could find, hanging his other clothes up so that he didn't get hollered at for making a mess of the place. By the time he got back outside, Bobby was talking on his cell phone, seemingly not-caring that he was getting smudges of oil on the silver casing. 

“Uh-huh... alright... tomorrow morning. Okay, I'll pass it along. Bye.” He hung up and shoved the thing back into his pocket with all the delicacy of an elephant. 

“Guess today is your last day off,” he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve before he yanked his baseball cap back down. “We start seven AM sharp. S'gonna be a long day, Dean.” 

“We've done worse,” Dean said and for once, his mind didn't immediately go to _Beast Man 2_. In the first few months after Dean had started working with Bobby, before he'd become a PA, they'd been working on a small independent movie, some horror flick about killer clowns rising from the grave. While torturing Sam by sending him pictures of the clowns in costume had been absolutely hilarious (and had almost resulted in Sam blocking his number permanently), the eighteen hour days they'd pulled way too often had sucked hard. 

“Yeah, guess so. Don't mean it's not going to suck any less. Ah, well. Let's get this damn thing fixed, then we can deal with this doozy of a production.”

***

By the time him and Bobby managed to get the car up and running, it was late afternoon and Dean was covered head to toe in sweat, dirt and gasoline so he grabbed a shower before he headed home. The rest of the night went by pretty uneventfully; he payed bills, called Sam for the hell of it and finished up some dishes that were starting to smell pretty funky. But then he was caught up on housework and his cell phone was practically staring up at him. He was pretty sure that if he called Castiel, the author would answer but what was he going to say then?

“Hey, are we gonna talk about the neck thing?” 

“Hey man, my apartment is too damn quiet and I think I might actually miss you, wanna come over?”

Yeah, because that sounded like something you would normally say to your friend. In the end, he put his phone in the bedroom to charge and flicked the television to the nearest all movie channel. It was the same one him and Cas had been watching in the motel and it was back to horror flicks again, each of them of extremely questionable quality. One had just started and when he flicked ahead in the guide, he couldn't help but groan; the one due to start in two hour's time was one of Ruby's earliest films, from when she was just starting to garner a reputation as a scream queen. 

Thankfully, by the time that movie came around, he could barely keep his eyes open. He managed to brush his teeth and get out of his jeans before he collapsed on his bed, rooting underneath the covers until all but his one foot were cocooned by the blankets. He barely managed to summon enough energy to make sure that his alarm was set before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: when I was writing this, I didn't realize just how many chapters I ended with Dean falling asleep. That was completely an accident. xo.


	12. here we are again, I feel the chemicals kickin' in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all you lovely readers! I hope I'm not updating too fast; I just don't want to make you all wait forever. I hope you enjoy this chapter. (:
> 
> PS: Title comes from Animal, by Neon Trees.

Six AM came around far too quickly. Yet, despite the fact that his eyes were practically begging for a few more minutes of sleep, Dean couldn't help but feel weirdly excited about getting back to work. For one, if he wasn't working, he got restless; there was only so much he could do around the apartment and with Bobby to keep himself busy. If he couldn't keep himself occupied, he made bad decisions. 

But the other reason, which may have been even stronger than the first, was that he got to see Castiel on a daily basis. Sure, it wasn't going to be the same, but it was still better than nothing. 

When he pulled into the parking lot just before seven, he could practically taste the excitement in the air. Apparently he hadn't been the only one ready to get back to work. The parking lot was practically filled and some of the other PA's were lingering around, muttering excitedly amongst themselves. For his part, Dean didn't really associate with many of them. Most of them were just temporary employees and half of them ended up getting fired anyways. So he ignored them and kept on walking, passing by Bobby's old pickup truck.

The wide doors of Stage C were flung open and someone was slowly driving a old, red convertible through them. Dean waited until they were inside before he slipped in, grabbing his headset and walkie-talkie from the table beside the door before he made a beeline for crafts services. He had just grabbed a bagel when his headset started crackling. 

_“Winchester!”_

Well, that was one thing he hadn't missed. 

“Yes, sir, how can I help you?” 

_"Ms. Cassidy says the garbage outside her trailer is overflowing. Go take care of it."_

_“I'll get right on that sir.”_ As soon as he let go of the talk button, Dean muttered _fuck_ and shoved the rest of his bagel into his mouth. He'd been trying so, so hard to stay away from Ruby but now Zachariah was about to ruin everything. 

If anything happened to him, that bald bastard was going to be paying his hospital bills. 

Ruby's trailer was located behind Stage C and Dean took the back way out, slipping through a tiny little door near the boardrooms. Her trailer was a huge, gaudy thing, painted black with red accents. Despite the early hour, there was music blasting from it and Dean really, really hoped that Ruby was too busy going through makeup prep or something. 

“Winchester!” Spoke too soon. The door of her trailer swung open and she stood in the entrance way, her hair pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her head. “Are you here to empty the garbage?” 

“Yep!” he said, trying to keep his tone chipper until he knew whether or not there was someone else in the trailer. She slammed the door shut and started down the stairs, her high heeled boots clicking against each step. Dean couldn't tell if she was in costume or not; she was wearing dark jeans and a red leather jacket that Dean was pretty sure she'd stolen from the costume shop of another one of her movies. He knew that the smart thing to do would have been to slink off or grovel at her feet, but quite simply, he wasn't going to do that. That was what Ruby _wanted_ him to do and even if it meant risking his job, he wasn't going to be her goddamn slave. 

“I don't like you,” she said, standing with her arms crossed. 

“That's fine,” Dean said, pulling the garbage bag out of the bin. It was only halfway full but he didn't bother saying anything about it. “It's not my job to be liked. It's my job to do what I'm told.” 

“Then why don't you-” 

“It's not my job,” he said, cutting Ruby off even as he put an empty garbage bag in the trash can, “to be your goddamn bitch.” Those words had apparently done the job; Ruby was already closing the distance between them and Dean couldn't help but hope that there was a photographer lurking around the corner. It'd be worth the scratches and possible black eye if Ruby got her face plastered all over the front page of the gossip rags. 

However, thankfully for his face, the attack never came. 

“Ms. Cassidy!” The voice sounded like rolling thunder and Dean snapped his head towards Ruby's trailer. Castiel had just come around the corner and looked absolutely furious. He wasn't walking forward so much as he was stalking, covering the ground with absolute purpose. 

“If you so much as scrape Mr. Winchester, I will ensure that you are removed from this production and that you never receive any kind of meaningful work again.” 

“You couldn't do that,” Ruby scoffed and to any casual observer, it would have sounded like she was still completely in possession of all her haughtiness. Yet Dean could see a little twinkle of fear in her eyes, could see that deep inside, she was still that scared newbie who was standing at the bottom, staring at the long, long journey to the top. 

“Perhaps I couldn't prevent you from finding work again,” Castiel replied and the cold look in his eyes was absolutely terrifying. This was beyond the Mr. Milton or Cas side of him; this was completely Castiel, the man named after an angel (yes, Dean had done some research) who was completely about protection. “Actually, I could find some for you. My brother Gabriel makes films, of a sort. I think you'd fit into them perfectly. But this is my movie and you are playing my character and so long as this production is in my hands, you will not touch Dean Winchester. Do you understand me?” That twinkle of fear had grown a little bit larger but Ruby quickly disguised it with a flip of her hair and a disgusted noise. Eventually, however, she buckled under unrelenting Castiel's stare and nodded once. 

“Yes, Mr. Milton,” she hissed, treating the words with absolute disdain. “I fucking understand.” With that, she strode back towards her trailer, slamming the door hard enough to make the thing shake on its frame. Castiel's eyes followed her and it was only when she was inside that he turned back to Dean. His demeanor immediately softened; the pure and absolute rage left his face and his shoulders slumped back down. Even his eyes changed in the slightest, the color shifting from icy blue to something far less cold. 

“Dean, are you alright?” he asked, laying one hand on Dean's shoulder. It took Dean a few seconds to gather his bearings, to process the transformation he had just witnessed and then he nodded quickly, shrugging casually. 

“Yeah, I'm fine. You know she's probably going to try and get me fired now, right?” 

“She can try.” Castiel let go of his shoulder and stowed his hands back into the pocket of his trench coat, which was hanging open. He was wearing a different tie today; it was still a blue one but this one more approximated the color of his eyes. 

“New tie?” Dean asked, intent on changing the conversation topic. Castiel may have been his friend but it was still rather disconcerting to see the potential for violence within him. Much as he appreciated the intervention, he also didn't want to accidentally piss him off, not when he was still coming down off of his 'beast mode.' Castiel glanced down at the tie, running his fingers over the fabric like he was seeing it for the first time. 

“Yes, it's new. I bought it yesterday. I thought about what you said, about adding more variety to my clothing. I thought that ties would be a good place to start.” He let the tie drop back to his chest and he looked up, smiling widely. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah, it's nice. It, uh, matches your eyes,” he said and although he briefly wanted to bash his face off a wall for saying something so cheesy, that desire went away when Castiel full on grinned. 

“Thank you, Dean. I have to return inside now, but I'd like to have lunch with you, if that's an option.” 

“Of course,” Dean said hurriedly, making a mental note to boil down his enthusiasm, just a bit. “I'll call you if I don't see you around, alright?” 

“You can text me now,” he replied, patting the pocket where Dean assumed his cell phone was. “I think I've figured it out now.” 

Dean got the chance to test that five hours later. After running around the entire lot, picking up makeup supplies and costume changes and helping some of the light guys deal with their rigs, he was ready for lunch. Just before he pressed the talk button on his walkie however, Zachariah's voice came down the line, buzzing into his ear like an annoying fly. 

_“Winchester!”_

Glancing down at his watch, Dean cursed out loud, heedless of anyone who might have heard him. He should have known that call was going to come down the line; Zachariah hadn't gotten one of his smoothies yet and of course, since he never got any of the other PA's to do it (for reasons Dean didn't entirely know), it was time. 

“Yes sir, I'll go grab your drink now,” he said, digging his car keys out of his pocket. “I'm going for lunch when I get back.” 

_“Fine, just hurry your ass up.”_

“Jackass,” Dean muttered, flipping his headset up so that it wasn't pressing into his cheek anymore. 

On his way back from getting the smoothie, while he was stopped at a red light that seemed to be taking fucking forever to change, he quickly shot off a text to Castiel, who he'd hardly seen since the incident with Ruby. 

_Going to be back in a few minutes. Ready for lunch?_ Only a few minutes later, he got a reply but he waited until he was back in the parking lot before reading it. 

_Yes. I'll be at the food table._ Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket and started jogging across the parking lot, Zachariah's smoothie slippery with condensation in his hands. By the time he got back to the stage, slipping quietly through the door, his hands were covered in water and he was trying his hardest not to pant. Thankfully, Zachariah was near the PA table and although he was obeying the quiet on set command (like the good little drone he was), he was viciously whispering to one of the other PA's, who was practically quaking in his shoes. 

“You are an imbecile, an absolute moron,” he hissed, using wild hand gestures to further convey his disappointment. “If you screw up an order one more time, you are out of here, you are gone, do you understand me?” The newbie nodded fervently and Zachariah clapped a hand on his shoulder with enough force to make his knees visibly buckle. 

“Good man. Now, go get Ms. Cassidy her lunch and lord help you, do not fuck it up.” The PA nodded again before hurriedly leaving, nearly tripping over a cord that was taped to the floor. Zachariah ran one hand over his bald head and muttered _idiots_ to himself before he noticed Dean standing there, still holding the perspiring smoothie in his hand. 

“Good timing, Winchester,” he said, snatching the smoothie from Dean's hands. “Let me know when you're done eating, I'll have something for you to do.” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean left as quickly as he could; when Zachariah got pissed, he usually took it out on whichever PA happened to be in the general vicinity. The smoothie seemed to have abated some of his anger but Dean still wasn't going to risk it. After the fight with Ruby, he really wasn't in the mood to get into another confrontation. 

When he reached the crafts services table, Castiel was sitting off to the side, apparently in the midst of typing out a text. Once Dean stepped in front of him however, he quickly flicked the thing shut and stowed it securely in his pocket. Either the text hadn't been important enough to finish or it had been intended for him but either way, Dean appreciated the gesture. 

“Hey Cas,” he said quietly, glancing around for any errant _ssh_ happy crew members. “Wanna grab food and go sit somewhere?” 

“Preferably outside,” he said, standing up and grabbing a Styrofoam plate off of the table. “I'm afraid that I might cause a scene if I stay in here any longer.” 

“Fair enough.” Dean loaded up his plate with a burger and a piece of cherry pie (with a murmur of _bless you people_ at the sight of the latter) before making his way towards the front door. Once they were outside, Castiel led the way around the corner to where Dean had found him sitting only a few days before, fuming at the state of the production. There was still a dent in the metal from where his fist had slammed into it. Thankfully, there was a patch of shade that easily fit both of them and Dean sat down, leaning his back against the relatively warm metal. Before he sat down as well, Castiel shrugged off his trench coat and dropped it on the ground. 

“It's too warm to wear it anyway,” he said when Dean quirked his eyebrow at him. Dean merely shrugged in agreement before he started eating his burger. It definitely wasn't as good as the ones from the diner on the way to Stanford but it was edible, which was enough. It was only after he finished that and was chipping away at his pie that Castiel spoke, talking around a mouthful of his own burger. 

“Dean, may I ask why Ms. Cassidy hates you so much?” Dean stopped poking his pie with his fork and sat the plate on the ground beside him. Much as he loved dessert, the question had really done a number on his appetite. 

“It's honestly the stupidest thing ever,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall, which had cooled down substantially now that the sun wasn't shining directly upon it. “Remember _Beast Man 2_?” 

“I don't think I will ever forget that movie,” Castiel replied, licking a drop of ketchup off of his finger. “It doesn't even seem appropriate to call it a movie.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean chuckled. “But that was the first time I worked on anything she was in. She was terrible; she bossed us around, treated us like her own army of grunts, basically acted like she was the damn queen of everything.” 

“And?” 

“And one day, she asked me to get a sandwich for her and I did, 'cause hey, it was my job, right? I came back with exactly what she'd ordered, I'd written it down so I knew I was right, but she said it was all wrong and tried to tear me a new one.” Cas tilted his head sideways and Dean hurriedly clarified the meaning of the phrase. Much as he was wearing off on Castiel, it was still obvious that the man had a long way to go when it came to common idioms. 

“Basically, she just started screaming at me and calling me useless so I called her a bitch and walked away.” Castiel's eyes went wide; his burger was sitting untouched on his plate and Dean couldn't help but feel a teeny tinge of pride. His story wasn't even that interesting but Castiel was hanging on to his every word. His attention was completely directed towards Dean and yeah, if Dean ever saw Gabriel again, he knew he was screwed, because Dean definitely had it bad and it was just getting worse with every day. 

“Were you fired?” he asked and Dean shook his head, getting his thoughts back on track. 

“No, Bobby intervened. He still won't tell me exactly what he did but somehow, I got to stick around. Pretty sure I'm the only one who's ever called Ruby a bitch and stuck around this town, though. I think that's why she doesn't like me. Might be something else, I dunno, but that seems the most likely reason.” 

“I'm sorry,” Castiel said. “If I'd known before, I never would have allowed her to have been cast.” 

“Hey, it isn't your fault,” Dean said, picking his plate back up and cutting off another hunk of pie with his fork. “How were you supposed to know that your main actress was going to hate one of the random PA's?” 

“Well, I wasn't supposed to know, of course.” Dean had to try very hard to bite back a groan of exasperation; for being a writer, someone whose job was to deal with wordplay and metaphors, Castiel was still painfully literal sometimes. “But I should have been able to see that she was a terrible person.” 

“Seriously man, don't worry about it. She's an actress, lying is her damn job.” He quickly looked down at his watch and shoveled his last bite of pie into his mouth; he'd already been sitting outside for nearly half an hour and if he didn't return to the set soon, Zachariah was going to be hunting him down and that really wasn't something he wanted to deal with. 

“I gotta get back,” he said, sweeping his crumbs off his plate and onto the ground. “Zachariah's probably about to give me some other boring thing to do.” When he stood up, he offered his hand to Cas, who took it and hauled himself up. The contact was only there for a matter of seconds but in that time, Dean could feel the calluses on Castiel's fingertips, could feel the hard ridges that had come from hours of writing with pens and typing against keyboards. They were calluses that he wasn't accustomed to; although his had started to soften with time, his own were from holding wrenches, from clutching steering wheels and from doing target practice with his dad's guns when he still lived in Kansas. Then he was letting go and he could feel his cheeks growing warm and he looked down at the ground until he was sure that he didn't look like a blushing idiot. 

“Don't be surprised if you hear me yelling at some point this afternoon,” Castiel said, picking his trench coat up off the ground and giving it a quick shake. “I sometimes feel like I might explode from the sheer frustration.” 

“I know the feeling.” 

The rest of the afternoon went by fairly normally. Based on Zachariah's mood, Dean assumed that the bald-headed man had yelled at someone while he was gone on his lunch break. He was almost downright cheery, still sucking up the remnants of his smoothie as he ordered Dean to clean up one of the boardrooms for a meeting. The job didn't take too long and it was as he was walking out, back into the main room, that he heard Castiel's deep voice filling the space, as he'd said was bound to happen. Dean didn't really hear what he was saying, didn't really need to hear the specific words. He immediately beelined towards the crafts services table (which was starting to look decidedly picked over) and grabbed a cup of coffee. He waited until the yelling had quieted down before he started making his way towards the center of the set, automatically stepping over wires and tape and extension cords. Whatever Cas had been yelling about, it had led to the scene being paused for a moment and Dean could see where he was sitting, in a chair embroidered with Castiel Milton on the back, shoulders stiff and tense. Before he could reach Cas, however, Zachariah slid out of the shadows, his beady eyes immediately locking onto the cup of coffee. 

“Where are you taking that?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. 

“To Mr. Milton,” he said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the coffee cup was snatched from his hands so quickly that some of it sloshed onto his skin. 

“I can bring it to him. I need you to run over to Stage B. We need another boom rod.” Dean merely shrugged and started retracing his steps, cursing Zachariah the entire time. Only a few seconds later, Castiel's voice filled the immediate area again and if possible, he sounded even more pissed off than before. The difference was that this time, Dean could easily make out what he was saying. 

“I have no need for caffeine, Mr. Fuller!” 

Dean tried to make it outside before he burst out laughing but it didn't work; a sound tech shushed him as he was walking past. He ignored them however; all he could think of was how differently Castiel would have reacted had he been the one giving him the coffee, like he'd intended. 

At least the day hadn't been a total bust. 


	13. put some feel good in my soul...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter to all the lovely people who commented on the previous chapters. you're all super awesome and I hope you enjoy this installment. <3
> 
> PS: Title comes from [Smoke a Little Smoke](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxWjtWONuGc) by Eric Church. <3

The rest of the week passed by in a fairly similar fashion. The filming seemed to be proceeding in a mostly acceptable way, although the quiet of the set was occasionally broken by Castiel or the director yelling about something or another. All in all, however, it had finally started to feel like a fairly typical shoot. Ruby was trying her absolute hardest to try and get him alone but Dean managed to keep finding a way to stay away from her. He switched shifts with one of the other PA's, which had seemed like an okay idea at the time but by the time his sixth consecutive day of being on the set rolled around, Dean was ready for a break. He hadn't been to the Roadhouse in what felt like ages and he knew that Aunt Ellen was going to kick his ass if he didn't stop by to see her again sometime soon. 

Him and Castiel had been trying to eat lunch together every day and even though sometimes they only had five minutes before Castiel had to go back to supervising the filming, it had quickly become Dean's favorite time of the day. On the sixth day, they actually had half an hour where they were able to sit outside in the shade and talk. The crafts services people had made lasagna and although Dean was usually fairly skeptical when they deviated from their normal fare, he had to admit that it was still pretty good, so long as he didn't try to compare it to Aunt Ellen's. Castiel had obviously thought it was amazing, as he'd devoured his entire piece before Dean even got halfway through his. It was while he was picking away at his food that Dean had an idea. Sure, the shooting was still going well but Castiel was obviously tense. It was evident in the set of his shoulders, in the way that he'd resorted back to wearing his dark blue tie every day. He needed a break and if the Roadhouse wasn't a good place to blow off some steam, Dean didn't know what was. 

“Cas, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, accidentally stabbing his fork through his foam plate as he tried to get another bite of lasagna. 

“Watching TV,” Cas said, scraping together the remnants of ground beef and cheese on his plate so he had another forkful. “Why?” 

“Oh, no reason,” Dean said. “Just wonderin' if you maybe wanted to go to the Roadhouse with me tonight.” 

“I thought that was a film,” he said tentatively, stopping with his fork midway to his mouth. Dean couldn't help but laugh, throwing his head back against the wall of the building. 

“You've been around me for too long,” he chuckled. “It is a movie, a damn awesome one, I might add, but it's also my aunt and uncle's bar. I'm thinkin' about going there tonight, having a few drinks. You in?” Castiel finally shoved his fork into his mouth and stared straight ahead, obviously mulling the request over. When he finally swallowed, he nodded once, turning his head so that he was looking at Dean rather than the scrub grass in front of him. 

“It would be better than watching television by myself,” he said slowly. “I'm not sure how long I'll be here for tonight, but could you pick me up at my hotel later? I'll send you a text when I'm ready.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said, sticking his fist out. Cas stared at his hand for a second before slowly curling his fingers into his palm and just barely knocking them against Dean's. 

“Now we're talking.”

***

Zachariah finally let Dean go just after seven o'clock and he'd barely gotten back to his apartment before he recieved a text from Castiel saying that he was done and would be ready around eight thirty. Even though it was just the Roadhouse, Dean felt like a change of clothes was a good idea, especially since he was pretty sure some of Zachariah's smoothie had dripped onto his jeans at some point during the day. He grabbed a new pair from his dresser, switched out his shirts and boots for slightly less ratty ones and ran a hand through his hair so that it wasn't lying completely flat on top of his head. It was more trouble than he usually put in and he knew there was no point in ignoring the fact that at least some of it was because of Castiel. He probably could have used a shave but he didn't feel like putting in _that_ much effort so he left it at that, twirling the keys of the Impala around his fingers as he left his apartment.

Even with traffic, he was still fifteen minutes early but Castiel came out almost immediately after he texted him, wearing almost the exact same thing as usual. The only difference that Dean could detect (and that was only when Cas was actually slipping into the car) was that his suit appeared to be a very dark shade of blue, rather than black. 

“Is that blue?” he asked before he shifted back into drive. Castiel nodded, his lips quirking into a close-mouthed smile. 

“I'm amazed you noticed,” he said, plucking the fabric of his trousers between his fingertips. “It's only a little blue.” 

“Hey, it's still different,” Dean said. “It's a nice change, man.” He pulled back onto the road, turning up the volume on the tape deck. His tape of the day was a mix one and Castiel seemed to be into most of the music, judging from the absent-minded way he tapped his fingers off of his knee. 

“I'm glad you like this stuff,” he said, gesturing towards the tape deck. “It's all the jukebox at the Roadhouse plays, none of the modern day crap.” 

“Sounds like a very atypical bar for this sort of town,” Castiel commented. 

“Wait until you see it.” The bar was only a few streets down from Bobby and Ellen's house and when Dean pulled into the parking lot, which was starting to fill up with cars that had mostly come off the assembly line before Dean was born, he could see the shock on Castiel's place. Admittedly, Dean understood it. Most of the bars in the general area were geared towards young business people or those trying to make it into movies; they were all neon lights, thumping music, girls in skimpy dresses who drank Grey Goose by the bottle and tanned guys who bought it for them. Even the bars that said they catered to the country western types were too shiny, too new and flashy to really be anything but artificial. The Roadhouse, on the other hand, looked like someone had picked it up and transplanted it from Kansas to LA. The exterior looked like it was covered in a permanent layer of dust (which was actually just a really bad paint job) and rather than being built out of sleek metal or bricks, it was all wood, with the imperfections easy to see. The thing was really a fire hazard just waiting to happen but it'd been ten years since Ellen and Bobby had taken over the place and somehow, there hadn't been one inferno in the entire time. As he stepped out of the car, Castiel's eyes took in the whole place, from the flat-topped roof (where Dean used to sneak beer, before he was legal) to the cheap plug-in signs in the window advertising different types of beer. 

“I don't think I'm dressed right,” he said, completely solemnly and Dean just barked a laugh, slinging one arm over the befuddled man's shoulders and guiding him towards the door. 

“Nah, you're fine,” he said. “Just prepare yourself for the ribbing you're gonna get.” 

“The what?” 

“You'll see.” 

“Would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Dean was hardly two steps in the doorway before he heard his aunt's voice hollering at him from behind the bar, easily breaking over the music. The place wasn't very large; the bar was set against one side of the room and there was a doorway beside the drinks counter that led to the supply and break room. The other side of the room held the ancient jukebox and there were a number of small tables in between, most of which were already occupied. Bobby was sitting at the one closest to the door with his friend Frank, a conspiracy theorist who Dean had always enjoyed getting riled up about something or another. 

“Hello Mr. Singer,” Castiel said as they walked by the table, which resulted in Frank practically howling with laughter. 

“Mister Singer!” he yelled, pounding his fist on the table. “Now that's funny!” 

“When I ain't on set, call me Bobby,” he said, glaring at Frank. “Shut up you idjit!” Frank ignored him and kept on laughing, slumping down onto the table. Dean quickly led Castiel towards the bar, where Ellen was multitasking with great efficiency.

“Hey darlin',” she said, leaning across the bar to peck his cheek, her hands still cleaning out the inside of a glass with a tattered rag. “Who'd you bring with you tonight?” 

“Aunt Ellen, meet Castiel Milton,” he introduced. 

“It's nice to meet you, ma'am,” Castiel said, sticking out his hand. Rather than shaking his hand, Ellen grabbed a bottle of beer from somewhere underneath the bar and stuck it into his hand, resulting in a rather comical look finding its way onto his face. 

“I ain't old enough to be a ma'am,” she retorted, coming up with another beer for Dean. “But it's nice to meet you too. Bobby's told me a bit about the production, sounds like it's quite the doozy.” 

“It is remarkably frustrating,” he agreed, handing his beer to Dean, who popped off the cap. “But it hasn't been completely awful.”

“Well, thank Lord for that,” she said. “Now, unless Dean wants to hop back here and help me, I gotta get back to work. Go have fun.” 

“Dean!” Just as Dean turned around to lead Cas to a table, a blonde-haired girl jumped onto him, sending him stumbling back into the bar. 

“Jo, Jesus, it hasn't been that long since I saw you,” he said, managing to hug her while still holding onto his beer. 

“Been a week,” Jo muttered against his neck before letting him go. She had an apron tied around her waist and judging by the bulge in her hip pocket, she was making good tips tonight. “Now, you gonna introduce me or what?” she demanded, nodding at Castiel. 

“God you're bossy,” he remarked, earning himself a punch on the arm. “Cas, this is my cousin Jo and whatever you do, do not call her ma'am.” 

“What about miss?” he asked; it was obvious that after the initial tension, Cas was starting to relax, starting to realize that the Roadhouse wasn't a place where you had to worry about anything. 

“I can deal with miss, but I'd rather you just call me Jo,” she said, flashing the million-watt smile that got her most of her tip money. “Read your book, by the way. Not too shabby.” 

“Jo!” Before Dean could scold her for being so rude, Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling slightly. 

“Thank you for being honest,” he said. “I'll try to make the next book better, just for you. Maybe you'll even get a dedication.”

“Would you look at that Dean? I get a book dedicated to me! Can you say that?” She nudged him in the ribs, winked at him and took off again, casually balancing a tray of beer on one hand as she wove her way between the tables. 

“It's easy to see that you two are related,” Castiel said, raising his voice to be heard over the music as Dean scored a table near the jukebox. 

“Yeah, I might have worn off on her a bit,” he admitted, taking a gulp of his beer. It'd been too long since he'd had a drink. “Sam did too, though. She's a smart girl, she's going to school to be a mechanic. Can drink almost as much as me too.”

“I'd like to see that,” Castiel said, his eyes flickering around the bar, lingering over every novelty sign that dotted the scarred and pitted walls. Dean knew the story of all of them, had either heard them from Bobby or had hung them up himself. It'd been awhile since they'd found a new one; Dean was pretty sure the newest thing in the bar was a stool they'd bought after one of the old ones finally gave up the ghost and cracked, spilling its occupant onto the floor. That had been at least six months ago. 

“So, what do you think?” he asked once Castiel's eyes stopped wandering. He was leaning forward, hands clasped around his beer, elbows on the table. 

“I like it,” he said simply, punctuating his statement with a long swig of his drink. “I like this beer too.” 

“You ever had whiskey before?” He shook his head, leaving Dean completely unsurprised. “How 'bout this? When you're done your beer, I'll order us a Jack and Coke and you can expand your horizons a little more. Sound good?” 

“Yes.” With that, Castiel tilted his beer back and started swallowing. He didn't stop until there was only a little foam visible in the bottom of the bottle and he quickly dropped it onto the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I'm ready for that whiskey now,” he said and for the first time ever, Dean watched as the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. It was obviously a challenge and Dean knew that he shouldn't have gone for it, knew that this was how bad decisions were made. But he'd never been one to back away from a challenge, especially when it was being put forth by a man whose cheekbones were highlighted by the dim lighting of the bar and who was wearing a blue suit because Dean had put the idea in his head. Returning the smirk, he drained the rest of his beer as well, using his tongue to catch the foam that had stuck to the corner of his mouth. 

“So am I.”

***

Dean knew that he probably should have told Castiel to slow down but he was having far too much fun to care. The Jack and Coke had gone over quite well; on the first sip, Castiel's brow had furrowed and Dean could see his tongue poking into his cheek, trying to determine how he felt about the unfamiliar flavor. Then, he'd taken another massive sip, easily putting away half of the drink in less than a minute.

“So, thoughts on whiskey?” he asked, taking a small sip of his own drink. 

“It's better than beer,” he said, setting his glass down on the table. “It tastes... heavier. I don't think that makes sense.” 

“Eh, not really but hey, whatever,” Dean said, feeling himself smile. “It's also a lot stronger so I wouldn't put it back too quickly.” 

“I'll be fine,” Cas muttered, although the next sip he took was much smaller than the first. Rather than putting it back down on the table, he looked at his glass thoughtfully, swirling the amber liquid around the few cubes of ice in it before he held it out in front of him. 

“What are we toasting to?” Dean asked, swirling his own drink as well. He was still mostly in control of himself but he knew that he was smiling fast and freely about the simplest things. Castiel propped his chin up on his hand and looked at the ceiling before he glanced back down, his blue eyes locking right onto Dean's. Dean wasn't going to say that he got butterflies (because that was absurd, you got butterflies when you were fourteen, not twenty-five) but the way Castiel looked at him made _something_ happen in the general region of his stomach. 

“To you,” he said simply. “For being the only person on the set that isn't incompetent.” 

“Hey, Bobby's competent!” he said. His voice was apparently louder than he'd intended because Bobby looked up from his discussion with Frank and glanced over at him. Dean merely waved with his free hand before turning back to the toast. 

“Well then, to you and Bobby. Competency must run in your family.” 

“I will drink to that!” Dean tilted his head back and, despite his warnings to Cas about taking it slow, he poured the rest of his drink down his throat. The bottom of the glass was mostly whiskey and he could feel it burning down to his stomach. It was a pleasant warmth, a kind he'd really missed and he slammed his glass down onto the table hard enough to make it shake. Castiel took a second or two longer but then he was doing the same thing, spitting one of his ice cubes back into his glass. 

“Dean Winchester, if you break one of my glasses, you're getting cut off!” his aunt yelled from over by the bar and Dean couldn't help but wince as every single person in the bar swiveled to stare at him. 

“Sorry!” he yelled back, suitably chastised. It didn't matter how old he got, the sound of his aunt yelling at him was enough to make him start apologizing, even if he didn't really know what he was apologizing for. 

“Sorry!” Castiel hollered as well and even though she was still frowning at them, Dean could see her face soften a little. Castiel was earning major brownie points. Once she turned back to what she was doing, everyone else resumed their drinking and talking and Dean felt the blush seep away from his face. 

“Is there anything else you want to try tonight?” he asked, picking one of the whiskey soaked ice cubes out of his glass and popping it into his mouth. Castiel stared down into his glass like he was seeking revelation before shaking his head and mirroring Dean's action, slowly crunching a chunk of ice between his teeth. 

“I believe I've experimented enough for tonight,” he said, a droplet of water dripping from the corner of his mouth. “I would like another one of these, though.” 

“That can easily be arranged.” The next time Jo passed by, Dean gave her their request and she was back within a minute, easily balancing two new glasses filled with dark liquid on her tray beside a pitcher of beer. 

“Mixed this one a little stronger,” she said, exchanging their empty glasses for the full ones. “Lemme know what you think.” Dean took one sip and nearly spluttered, completely unprepared. 

“You weren't fucking kidding,” he choked. He was pretty sure that Jo had either forgotten to mix the two components together or she'd put in only a thimbleful of Coke. Castiel took a cautious sip of his but seemed to have no visible problems with it.

“Drink that one slow,” Jo said to him, tousling his hair before she took off, dropping the pitcher of beer off at Bobby and Frank's table. Castiel was looking at him with one eyebrow raised and Dean returned the gesture, shrugging off his jacket as he did so. It was getting too damn warm to wear it. 

“What're you raising your eyebrow for?” he asked, the corner of his mouth furling up into a smirk. “I got something in my teeth?”

“No, of course not,” Castiel said, leaning back in his chair a little bit. One of his feet bumped against Dean's shin and Dean bumped him right back, gently tapping his foot off of Castiel's ankle. “I'm merely enjoying your company.” 

“Well shucks Cas, I like you too,” Dean gasped in the worst Southern accent he could conjure up. Castiel's straight face lasted for all of a second before he was bursting into absurdly loud laughter. His laughter set Dean off too and he dropped his head down to the table. He could feel the vibrations of Castiel's chuckles vibrating through the wood and when he sat back up, he could feel tears running down his face. He hadn't remembered the last time he'd laughed so hard, especially not over something as stupid as a dumb accent. He wiped off his face and took a swig from his glass, noticing the pink splotches that were dotting Castiel's cheeks. There was a single tear falling from the corner of his eye, brought forward by his laughing and he raised a forearm to wipe it off. Impulsively, Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's wrist, stopping him just before he reached his face. 

God, this was a stupid idea. But it was too late now so Dean went through with the rest of his task, dragging his thumb across the tear until it was nothing but a smear of water across his fingertip. He quickly pulled away and busied himself with draining a third of his remaining whiskey in one swoop. When he set his glass back down, Castiel was still staring at his hand and Dean knew it must have been the lighting but his eyes seemed to have subtly changed color again. When he finally looked back up, the only way Dean could think to describe his gaze was smoldering. Slowly, Castiel picked up his glass and tilted his head back so that his throat was long and swallowed every last drop. When he sat it back down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the empty glass across the table towards Dean's. 

“Your turn,” he murmured, his voice low and barely audible over the music. Dean mirrored his actions and he could feel his head getting more and more lightheaded and Castiel was gorgeous and Dean had a bad feeling (or maybe it was a good feeling) about how the evening was going to end. He knew that he should have stopped drinking, should have been cutting them both off but Castiel was looking at him with a challenging eyebrow raised and sure, Dean had no idea what the challenge was or what the stakes were but he wasn't going to get left behind. 

“Jo! Another round please!”


	14. you're behind my eyelids when I'm all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone for your amazing comments so far! You're all wonderful and it really means a lot to me. Also, I'm quite tired right now and didn't read this over as carefully as I usually do so if there are any glaring mistakes, please point them out for me. (: 
> 
> Title comes from: [Hurricane](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgW4w3OY1kM) by Panic! at the Disco.

With their third round of Jack and Coke, Dean got an idea. It was after midnight and people were slowly starting to leave the bar, meaning that the pool tables were free for the first time all night. Dean knew that Castiel had never played pool before, knew it like he knew his own name and once the idea got in his head, he acted on it. His legs were a little wobbly when he stood up but it was nothing that he hadn't gone through before. 

“Cas, c'mon,” he said, tugging Castiel up from his seat. “I'm gonna show you how to play pool.” 

“My legs feel odd,” Castiel remarked as he stood up, leaving his trench coat draped over the back of his seat. “Is that normal?” 

“Completely normal,” Dean assured him, plucking two pool cues off of the wall. “It's a sign that you're having a good time.” He handed one of the cues to Cas before he sauntered over to the jukebox, peering through the cloudy glass at the catalog. The damn thing had been the same for years and he wanted to find the perfect song, something that seemed suitable for the moment. When he found the appropriate song, he grinned and pushed the buttons, cutting off the middle of a Styx song. All too familiar guitar chords filled the air and he walked back over, grabbing his cue from the wall rack. 

“I might have a quarter in my pocket if you want to choose the next song,” Cas said, digging in his pocket with one hand. Dean wrapped his fingers around his wrist and tugged it away. The contact was no less shocking than it had been earlier but even though the physical sensations were much the same, the mental aspect was just getting stronger and stronger. But he was just getting more bold and, judging from Castiel's reaction, he wasn't exactly hating the whole thing. 

“Don't worry about the money,” he said. “One of our bartenders fixed the thing so that it's got a quarter permanently stuck in it. Works like a dream. Now, let's get this sorted out.” Whoever had played last had fixed the table back up so that all the balls were arranged in a pyramid. Dean carefully took the plastic border from around them and put it aside. Castiel was staring at the table like he was completely lost, holding his cue at his side like a pitchfork. He was wobbling just the slightest and Dean had a feeling that holding off for another round was probably a good idea.

“'kay, so, since I'm nice, I'm gonna let you pick which ones you want,” he said, gesturing at the table. “You want stripes or solids?” 

“What's the difference?” Castiel came around from the side of the table and leaned on the edge, his cue propped up beside him. 

“There isn't one. But whatever you choose, you gotta keep hitting those ones for the rest of the game.” Castiel reached out and ran his finger over the smooth surface of the eight ball, tapping his nail off of it. 

“Stripes,” he finally said, pulling back. Dean nodded and lined up his cue in one fluid motion. His dad had taught him how to play pool when he was just a kid and he was pretty sure that he could do it with his eyes closed. He tapped the cue ball forcefully, sending the rest of the balls into a fairly good break. None of them fell down into the pockets but there were a few solid ones that would only require a little bit of positioning. 

“Impressive,” Castiel muttered, stepping up and positioning his cue in a way that just barely approximated the proper position.

“You ain't seen nothin' yet,” Dean said, his words almost perfectly syncing up with the song as it blared over the jukebox. Castiel paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow again. Dean shrugged as Castiel turned back to the pool table, putting all his focus on the task at hand. His fingers fumbled over the cue and when he eventually stopped moving them, they still weren't in the correct position. Much as he wanted to help, Dean waited until Castiel attempted to make his first move. Instead of tapping the cue ball, his cue slammed into the green velvet of the table, creating a tiny rip that Dean knew he'd have to fix the next time he was sober. He tried very, very hard not to laugh but the way Castiel was frowning down at his cue with such seriousness was just too damn funny.

“Okay, looks like you might need a little bit more help,” he chuckled, putting his own cue back into its slot on the wall for a moment. “Try holding it again.” Castiel adjusted his cue so that it was horizontal, resting against the back of his hand. Dean waited a moment before stepping forward, reaching around Cas so that his hand was on top of Castiel's. His skin was warm and Dean could feel that warmth spreading up his arm as he adjusted Castiel's fingers until they were in the right position, with his thumb and index finger lightly wrapped around the cue. Even though the music was still pretty loud, Dean could hear that Castiel's breathing had quickened a little bit. Once his fingers were adjusted, he stepped even closer so that his chest was almost pressed against Castiel's back and drew his hand back up to Cas' wrist so that he could adjust it a little further. 

“Now extend your arm, pull it back a little,” he murmured, dragging his fingers further up Castiel's arm to his elbow. He didn't really know what he was doing; sure, he'd pulled almost the exact same play on others before but this wasn't a play, this wasn't just some person he wanted to fuck. This was Castiel and sure, he definitely wouldn't have minded waking up beside him but it was more than that. There was no denying that Castiel wasn't breathing a little heavier now; Dean had pretty well hooked his chin over Castiel's shoulder and he could hear the breath coming from his mouth. 

“Pull your arm back a little bit more... that's right,” he said quietly and Lord only knew how badly he wished Castiel had taken off his jacket. His fingers were still sitting on the curve of his elbow but there were too many layers and Dean just really, really wanted to touch that paper thin skin, wanted to drag his fingers over it and mark it with his nails. 

“Now what?” Castiel asked, his voice barely above a cracked whisper. Reluctantly (oh so reluctantly), Dean stepped away and moved aside, leaning on the edge of the pool table. Castiel's arm was shaking just a little bit and Dean really, really hoped that it wasn't exclusively from the alcohol. 

“Now, bend over a little bit, and hit it.” Cas did just that, bending at the waist and oh lord, Dean had way too many ideas going through his head, not one of them rated any lower than PG-13. His mouth was hanging open slightly and his cheeks were flushed red and it was just one hell of a pretty picture. Slowly, he drew the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed the cue forward, tapping it hard against the cue ball. It veered true and hit number 12, sending the purple-striped ball into one of the corner pockets. Whooping quietly, Dean patted Castiel's shoulder as he stood up straight, grinning with pride. 

“Well holy shit, you're a master already,” Dean said, squeezing Cas' shoulder for longer than was probably appropriate.

“What can I say? I had a good teacher,” Castiel murmured lowly, his voice sinking into Dean's chest and throbbing with the bass. Castiel had turned his back to the table and was leaning up against it, his hips resting against the ledge. 

“I think this calls for another round, what about you?” 

“One more round can't hurt,” Castiel replied. “I'll wait here.” Dean nodded and made his way across the room to the bar. The tables had really started clearing out now. Bobby and Frank were still sitting at theirs near the door; Frank had apparently whipped out his laptop at some point and they were both staring at the screen, with Frank spewing a running commentary. Besides them and four other regulars, the place was nearly empty. Jo was standing behind the bar with her mom now, both of them washing out glasses while carrying on a conversation. 

“Jo, one more round,” he said, leaning against the bar for the little bit of extra support he needed. She rolled her eyes and started putting the drinks together, her movements quick and precise. 

“Getting awful close to Mr. Milton,” she drawled, nodding her chin towards where Castiel was still leaning the pool table, his head tilted back. “It's kinda cute, actually.” 

“Shut up Jo,” he muttered but it was too late; he could feel a blush spreading over his face and she chuckled, leaning over to try and pinch his cheek. He dodged her hand just in time and she just shook her head, topping off the second glass with a few drops of Coke. 

“I'm just sayin', you two would make a cute couple. Dad's been telling us 'bout how Cas is on the set and it's like he isn't even the same guy. You're bringing out the best in him.” 

“Joanna, leave your cousin alone,” Ellen interrupted, pushing another glass down the bar towards Jo. “She is right though.” 

“You two suck,” he said as fondly as he could, grabbing his drinks and making his way back over to the pool table. Castiel turned around before he could say anything and took his nearly overflowing drink, licking off a drop that threatened to plummet to the ground. 

“I like this song,” he said, jerking his head towards the jukebox. It was playing an AC/DC track, one of Dean's favorites and he took a large sip of his drink before he took up the pool cue again, bobbing his head slightly to the beat. 

“You shook me all night long,” he murmured as he lined up his shot, easily sinking it. To his surprise, when Cas picked up his cue, he picked up where Dean had left off singing, his voice low and rough from the whiskey. The shot was a dud and he sighed, taking another sip of his drink. 

“I feel I would be better at this sober,” he said thoughtfully, frowning when Dean sank another shot. “I also feel that playing against you is unfair.” 

“Why's that?” he asked. Once Castiel sat his drink down, he shrugged off his jacket, slinging it over the nearest chair.

“Because you have much more experience than me,” he replied, his fingers fumbling over the cuff button on his shirt. Now there was no way that Dean was going to miss that opportunity; before Castiel could figure out how to make his fingers do exactly what they wanted, he stepped up to the plate. The buttons on his left sleeve proved to be resistant but after a few seconds, he got them undone, pushing back Castiel's sleeve to his mid forearm. He did the same with the other arm and there was no denying that he took more than a second to drag his fingers over the pale skin of Castiel's inner arm. 

“I suppose,” he murmured, finally addressing Castiel's statement. “But how are you supposed to get better if you don't try?”

“That's true.” He rolled his sleeves up the rest of the way and cleared his throat, picking up his cue and making another shot. This one wasn't a winner either but the one after it was. After Dean had sank two more shots and drained half of his drink, he stood up with some difficulty. The world was starting to grow fuzzy at the edges but he could see, clear as day, how tightly Cas' shirt pulled around his waist whenever he bent to make a shot and holy Christ, this was just absolute torture. 

“I, I think we should make a bet,” he said, the words tripping a little before they got out of his mouth. 

“On what?” Castiel's voice was still fairly steady but his walking was getting more and more wobbly with each sip he took. 

“On the game, duh.” 

“Oh. Of course.” Castiel put down his cue for a moment and leaned against the table, peering up towards the ceiling. “If I win...,” he said slowly, trailing off until the spark of an idea formed upon his face, “I'll buy a navy blue suit, just for you. What about if you win?” 

“If I win, I want you to spend the night at my apartment,” Dean blurted out. For a moment, there was a flicker of uncertainty on Castiel's face and Dean quickly started babbling, feeling like a goddamn idiot. “That is, only if you want to, I mean, man, that was a dumb thing to say, I'm-”

“You have a bet.” Castiel raised his glass, clinked it against Dean's and took another large sip before he lined up his next shot. Although he stumbled briefly (which Dean definitely didn't giggle at, no sir), the shot set him up perfectly. Or, at least, it would have, had Dean not used the ideal position of the cue ball to sink his next shot. 

Ten minutes later, his drink was done, he was definitely drunk, no two ways about it but most importantly, he had definitely won the game. Aside from Bobby and Frank, who seemed to have gotten even louder as time went on, the bar was empty and Ellen was starting up her closing routine, flicking off all the neon signs in the front windows. Dean whooped and brandished his cue above his head, feeling unbelievably elated. His balance was pretty goddamn shitty, sure, but the fact was that he'd won and he got to claim his prize. Castiel was staring down at the table, where there were still two striped balls remaining but then he looked back up and he was smiling in a way that made Dean swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat. He'd seen that look before, knew exactly what it meant and it meant only good things. 

“Congratulations,” he said softly. Behind him, Jo was picking up their empty glasses and turning off the jukebox. The sudden silence was nearly overwhelming but without the music in the background, Dean could hear all the subtleties in Castiel's voice, could hear how he practically purred certain syllables. “We'll have to play it again sometime. I was actually looking forward to buying a new suit.” 

“C'mon, is it so bad that I won?” Dean murmured, hanging up his cue and leaning his hip against the pool table. Castiel chuckled softly and moved even closer so that his sprawled out fingertips were brushing against the back of Dean's hand. 

“No,” he said in return, twitching his index finger so that it dragged across Dean's knuckles. It was such a miniscule touch, barely even perceptible but Dean could feel it coursing through his nerves long after the initial contact had ended. Castiel looked up into his eyes and his fingers slowly moved upwards until they were encircling Dean's wrist, pressing against where his pulse was throbbing underneath the skin. 

“Actually, on second thought, I suppose I'm happy you won,” he said, his eyes drifting downwards again. Dean followed his gaze down to where Cas was holding his wrist. 

“Why?” Dean knew he should have felt a little embarrassed about how forward he was being, should have gotten Cas to step back a bit. Sure, he flirted with people all the time in the Roadhouse; hell, that was where he picked up most of his one night stands. But the physical aspect of it had never really been overwhelming, had hardly ever gone beyond a simple kiss. That was what his apartment had been for. Sure, he may not have kissed Castiel yet (but oh lord, the temptation was strong) but the touches that had gone between them seemed far too intimate for the setting, especially since his family was only steps away. 

“Because,” Castiel whispered, taking another step forward and completely crossing over the boundary of personal space, “although I've enjoyed your apartment before, I imagine being in your bed will be even more enjoyable.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean groaned and, twisting his hand so that he could grab Castiel's wrist, he started leading the way towards the door. He knew that he was probably too drunk to be driving but he needed to get Castiel home, needed to have him laid out underneath him, preferably without clothes, as soon as possible. 

And then he tripped. 

He didn't know who invented chairs, but he decided that he wanted to have a good discussion with them about how inconvenient they were. Thankfully, he didn't sprawl on the ground like a complete idiot but it was only because of a nearby table that he managed to stay upright. Maybe his balance was a little more fucked that he'd thought.

“Dean Winchester, where in the _hell_ do you think you're going?” Ellen had stepped out from behind the bar and was standing near the door, her arms crossed over her chest in the way that meant business. 

“I was going to go home,” he muttered, trying to signal to her with his eyes that what he actually meant was _I wanted to go home and finally have sex with this stupidly attractive man I've wanted for weeks._

“Oh hell no, you are not driving,” she said, striding forward and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt like he was eighteen again and getting in trouble for sneaking beer. “I've still got that couch in the back room and you are sleeping right there. You too mister,” she added, staring pointedly at Castiel. 

“Yes ma'am,” Castiel muttered, sliding his wrist from Dean's grasp. Ellen released his collar but pointed towards the back room. Dean sighed and did as he was told, muttering goodnight to his aunt as he passed her. 

“Goodnight Dean!” Jo called from behind the bar and Dean could tell in the lilt of her voice that she was just barely holding back giggles. “Goodnight Cas!” 

“Night Jo,” Dean said grudgingly, tripping over the raised ledge that marked the frame of the supply room. Jo's giggles broke out of her mouth and Dean sent a glare back at her. It didn't seem to have any effect because if anything, she laughed harder, smothering her chuckles in her arm. Dean shut the door behind him and Castiel, sighing quietly. The mood had definitely changed; sure, he still really wanted Castiel (he was pretty sure that wasn't going to change, not when he had the memory of Cas whispering such lovely words almost directly into his ears) but he could feel now just how drunk he really was and on second thought, he didn't really want to sleep with the guy while he was so intoxicated he could barely walk. 

The basic layout of the supply room hadn't changed in years. There were crates and crates of alcohol stacked against the back wall, some empty but most of them full. There were a few other assorted boxes that held mostly rags and cleaning supplies and off to one side, there was a door that led to the bathroom. Other than that, the only furniture was a lumpy old couch pressed against the wall beside the entrance door and a cabinet that held spare supplies and a bedding set. Dean had slept on the couch a few times and it certainly wasn't the most ideal experience in the world but he figured that it couldn't be too bad, especially considering that Cas would be beside him. 

“Wanna help me pull this thing out?” Dean asked, shrugging off his over shirt and draping it over a box filled with bottles of rum. 

“Sure.” After they flung the cushions across the room, nearly knocking over a stack of beer boxes, they pulled the couch out. It smelled like Ellen had vacuumed or sprayed it with air freshener recently and Dean was thankful for that. It wasn't that the thing smelled gross per se, but it had been around for so long that it usually smelled musty and after spending much of his childhood in hotels, musty wasn't really a smell he enjoyed. While there was a set of sheets in the cabinet meant for the temporary bed, Dean was pretty sure he didn't possess the coordination to put them on, so he just grabbed the blanket and threw it on the bed. 

“Sorry there isn't any pillows,” he said, pulling off his socks. Castiel just shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his belt out of his trousers. 

“Dean, would you be uncomfortable if...” Cas trailed off but his fingers were resting on the top button of his shirt. 

“What? Oh, no, not at all,” Dean said, pulling off his belt as well. “I was actually plannin' on the same thing.” With that, Castiel undid the buttons and slid his shirt off his back. Even though he was intoxicated, he carefully folded it and sat it on a nearby crate, with his belt neatly coiled on top. Then, rather ungracefully, he flopped onto his stomach, wriggling his way underneath the blanket. His tattoo moved as he shifted around and the urge to trace over it was even stronger than usual. Dean flicked off the light before he took off his own shirt, dropping it onto the floor before gingerly stepping over to his side of the bed, lest he trip over something else, whether that be his own feet or simply the floor. Thankfully, he made it to the bed without any negative consequences and he laid down as well, pillowing his head against his arm. There was a tiny window set high into the wall that allowed in a little light from the street lamps outside and that, combined with the light that was still pouring in from underneath the door, meant that Dean's eyes adjusted fairly quickly. Castiel was still lying on his stomach, his head facing away from Dean, the black ink a shadow against his skin. His breathing was growing more regular but Dean could tell that he wasn't asleep yet. 

“Cas?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes Dean?” Cas mumbled, his words muffled by the mattress. He shifted so that, while he was still lying on his stomach, his head was turned towards Dean. 

“Was tonight... was it good?” He hated sounding so dumb but being articulate wasn't really a high priority for his brain at the moment. 

“Could have been a little better,” Castiel murmured, his voice dark with hinted messages and for a brief moment, a warm sensation settled itself in Dean's stomach as he thought of all the ways the night could have been better. “But yes, Dean. It was a good night, probably the best I've had in a long time.” 

“I bet you say that to all the guys,” he chuckled, adjusting the blanket so that it was covering most of his chest. 

“No. Just you,” Cas said softly. He smiled slightly before rolling back over, wriggling slightly until he was still. Dean couldn't help but look at the back of his head for a few moments, couldn't help but entertain thoughts of pressing his nose into Castiel's hair, of running his fingers down his exposed ribs and over his flat stomach. Instead, he shut his eyes and curled his fingers around the hem of the blanket, forcing himself to think of other things. 

All in all, the night hadn't been terrible. Even if things hadn't gone in exactly the same direction that Dean had imagined, one thing was now for certain: Castiel felt the same way. He _wanted_ Dean and sure, there were still a lot of technicalities around the situation that needed to be figured out but now was not that time. Now was the time for sleeping, so that he could sober up and try again when he wasn't heavily under the influence. 

Tomorrow would be the time for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a feeling that some of you are going to call me a tease again... I'm sorry! Soon, I promise.


	15. your heart gives mine reason to beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so technically it's Saturday here so I apologize for the brief wait! I'd just like to thank all of you who have commented/given kudos/subscribed, you're all amazing. The next chapter will be up Monday afternoon at some point and if any of you could wish me luck with my midterm I have to hand in on Sunday, I'd greatly appreciate it. <3
> 
> Chapter title comes from: [Eyelash Wishes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZ1azHtPV8o) by The All-American Rejects.

Although his sleep was a fairly fitful one, Dean woke up for good when the alarm on Castiel's phone went off. It wasn't until after he heard it switch off that he was even aware of what the noise was but then Castiel's arm was dropping onto his his waist and _that_ was unexpected. Sometime during the night, Dean had rolled away so that he was facing the door and, evidently, Castiel had decided to follow him, had decided to do what Dean had decided against the night before. The blanket was still resting on Dean's stomach and as a result, Castiel's hand was only half resting on his skin. He crooked his fingers just the slightest and Dean could feel the calluses on his fingertips dragging across his skin. The weight of his arm felt nice, felt right and Dean generally wasn't one for cuddling (of any kind, at any time) but nonetheless, he moved his own arm until it was on top of Castiel's. 

“Are you awake?” he murmured softly and Dean could feel his breath hitting the back of his neck, followed by his nose pressing into his hair. 

“Not by choice,” he groaned and now that he was truly waking up, he could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. He had never been more happy to have a day off in his life. 

“Sorry. I have to leave, they'll be starting up in half an hour. I wish I didn't have to.” 

“Do you need a ride?” Dean asked, reluctantly flicking his eyes open and immediately wincing at the light, relatively dim though it was. “I can drive you if you want.” 

“I'll phone for a cab. You sound like you need more sleep.” Much as Dean didn't really want Castiel to go, he also really didn't want to get up and so he let go of Castiel's arm, groaning quietly as Cas' hand skated across his chest as he moved it away. However, before he sat up, his breathing got even closer and suddenly, his lips were pressing into the hollow underneath Dean's ear. Although it had only minimal impact on his state of consciousness, Dean could feel the heat that went coursing through his body at that simple motion. The touch was fleeting but nonetheless, Dean knew that he wouldn't be forgetting the feeling anytime soon. 

“We'll talk about this soon,” he murmured, his lips still close enough that Dean could feel them snagging against his neck as he spoke. “I promise.” With that, he stood up and although Dean wanted to enjoy the view, his eyes had other ideas. They slammed shut once more and although he heard the jingling of Castiel's belt as he looped it through his trousers, he didn't hear anything else. When he awoke again, there were voices coming from the bar and he sat up slowly, groaning at the pain that had firmly settled into his head. It'd been a long time since he'd been so hungover and, keeping his eyes shut for as much of the process as he could manage, he threw on his clothes from the previous night. When he walked out into the main area of the bar, fully dressed with the exception of his socks, Jo and Ellen were standing behind the bar, wiping it down idly but when he stumbled over an uneven floorboard, they both stopped and turned towards him. 

“So, did you get lucky last night?” Jo asked, earning herself a mild swat on the arm from her mother. “Oh c'mon Mom, you were thinking the same thing!” 

“Don't you have school or something?” Dean mumbled, yawning as he sat down at one of the stools on the other side of the bar. 

“Already been there and back,” she said smugly, leaning on the bar with her arms crossed. “So, you gonna answer me or what?”

“Nope. I'm gonna let you use your imagination,” he said and the grossed out look on her face was more than worth the slap she delivered to his shoulder. 

“You're gross. You look like hell too. I'll get you some water and something to fix your head.” He muttered _thanks_ and dropped his head down on the bar, grateful for the feeling of cool wood against his forehead. It did nothing to relieve any of the pressure in his skull but it was a soothing feeling nonetheless. 

“Was it a good night?” his aunt asked him. Dean looked up just enough so that he could see her before nodding and gently dropping his head back down. 

“Yes Aunt Ellen, it was a good night,” he muttered, not really caring whether or not she could hear him. “And before you ask, no, I didn't have sex with Castiel on your couch.” 

“I wasn't gonna ask you anything about that,” she said. “Isn't any of my business, though I would be making you clean that mattress if it had happened.” 

“Well I'm sorry to disappoint you. The couch is still clean.” A cold glass touched his arm and he sat up again, taking two tablets from Jo's palm before he downed them both with the water. The inside of his mouth was extremely dry and even after one glass, he needed another to make it feel like something other than the Sahara desert. 

“So, just to clarify,” Jo said after he had finished his second glass of water, “you _didn't_ get lucky?”

“Jo, please, for the love of God, shut up.”

***

For most of the afternoon, he stuck around the Roadhouse, busying himself with the menial tasks his aunt kept finding for him to do. He patched up her pool table, put the pull-out couch back together, fixed one of the signs that had busted and restocked their liquor from the back room. By the point he finished all those tasks and more, he was finally sober enough to drive home. It was just before five in the afternoon and although he could walk and drive straight, he still didn't really feel like doing any extensive form of cooking.

Take-out it was. 

There was a pizza joint by his place that wasn't too bad; it was tiny and a little dingy but the proprietor was nice enough and considering how cheap it was, the pizza was more than edible. He gave his order to the young girl behind the cash and settled down into a booth to wait, checking his half-dead phone for the twelfth time since he'd woken up. There was nothing from Castiel and he didn't know why he was so disappointed in that fact. Sure, Cas had said that they'd talk about whatever had happened last night but Dean knew that he was busy. Besides, that wasn't exactly a conversation he wanted to have exclusively through text messages. 

Nonetheless, he was still a little disappointed by it and he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Just as he did that, someone slid into the other side of his booth and when he looked up, he groaned loudly, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. 

“Hey Dean-O,” Gabriel said, leaning back against the pleather seat. He was chewing an enormous wad of pink gum that he pushed out into a half formed bubble every couple of seconds. “How's it going?”

“Gabriel, what in the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, peering over his shoulder to see if his pizza was ready yet. “I thought you were working in Stanford.”

“I was, but remember how I said I was looking for the whole virginal kind of girl? Found her! Actually have some pictures on here, if you're interested...” He pulled a phone very similar to Anna's out of his pocket and started flicking at the screen with his thumbs, muttering under his breath. 

“I really don't want to see that,” Dean sighed and to his surprise, Gabriel actually put the phone away, muttering about Dean being a killjoy as he did so. “But what the hell are you doing _here_?” 

“Thought I'd stop by and see how the movie is faring,” he said casually, blowing a large fuchsia bubble. “But Cas isn't answering my calls and I was hungry. Hence, food, Dean-O. That a good enough explanation for you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean still thought it was weird that, of all the places Gabriel could have gone for food, it had to be the exact pizza shop he was in, but whatever. Regardless of whether or not it was a coincidence, he just wanted to get out as quick as possible. Being around the blonde man was making his headache come back with a vengeance. 

“So, how are things with Cassie?” he asked after Dean tried to ignore him for a minute. It took Dean a moment to realize who the hell Gabriel was talking about and he just scoffed, taking another look over his shoulder. 

“Bite me, Gabriel,” he said. He knew that it was a childish response but he really didn't feel like acting like an adult, especially not with a guy who called his younger brother Cassie. That was just immature. 

“Oh, would if I could, but I think my lil' bro has already filled that position,” Gabriel replied, blowing another obscenely large bubble. Dean merely rolled his eyes in response because there was no way that Gabriel was serious. But when he looked back across the table, Gabriel was smirking and he wiggled his eyebrows, dropping one of his eyes into a wink before his face went back to its normal position. Dean spluttered for an answer but before he could get his thoughts straight, Gabriel clapped his hands on the table and stood up, face breaking into a grin. 

“Well, I don't hear a denial, so I'm gonna take that as a yes. Remember what I said at Stanford Dean, you hurt him and I hurt you. See you around.” With that, he grabbed his pizza off the counter and took off, whistling as he strolled out the door. In the few minutes that went by before Dean's pizza was ready, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. In the end, even after he picked up his pizza, he still wasn't entirely sure what the fuck had just happened so instead, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed out a text as quickly as he could with one thumb. 

_Hey so I think your brother just tried to flirt with me? Don't really know what the hell just happened..._

To his surprise, he received a message just after he walked through the door. 

_Yes I saw that Gabriel is in town. I'm sure he was just joking._ Dean quickly typed out his response and grabbed a pop from the fridge. His first instinct had been to grab a beer but after the night before, that would have just been asking for trouble. 

_Dunno man, he looked pretty darn serious. Said he wanted to bite me, but he couldn't cuz you already had that job, something like that._

Dean had barely settled onto the couch with two slices of pepperoni pizza on his plate before his phone was buzzing again. This time, Dean stared at his phone for a long time before he finally gained the courage to read the message. He needn't have been afraid, however; the response sent a shiver running through his body and suddenly, he really, really wished that Castiel was in his apartment with him. 

_He's right, that is my job... I hope. I'm having dinner with him tonight it looks like i'll have to remind him about boundaries. Will I see you tomorrow?_

Dean knew how he wanted to respond to the text but making his fingers make the motions proved more difficult than he expected. He took a moment to finish his first slice of pizza before he picked up his phone again and forced himself to type out the message. 

_Job's yours if you want it. ;) and yeah, i'll be there bright and early._

As soon as he pressed the send button, he felt like an absolute idiot. Jesus Christ, he was twenty-five fucking years old; did anyone over eighteen really use emoticons anymore? But the message was already out on the wire and Dean flicked his television on, hoping that he'd be able to distract himself from thinking about his own stupidity. To his surprise, just after he'd settled on a documentary about classic cars, his phone went off again and this time, he read the message immediately, grinning like a complete idiot once the words set in. 

_in that case, I'll accept the job. I'll see you tomorrow, Dean._

He quickly shot off one last reply before he dropped his phone on the coffee table and let his attention drift over to the documentary. It was pretty interesting, although most of the information wasn't that surprising. It was only after it finished that he bothered to check his phone again and this time, he had a single text from an unknown number. 

_Cas said i'm not allowed to bite you. Which answers all the questions I had. ;)_

“Fucking Gabriel,” he muttered out loud, not even bothering to honor the text with a response. He really hoped that Gabriel wouldn't be lingering around the set for too long, if he came at all; Dean didn't think that he'd be able to deal with his smugness, especially not in an environment that already had such a high potentiality for stress.

He slept well that night and when he woke up in the morning, he was more than ready to go to work. Hell, traffic even cooperated with him, for once; he actually got to the studio a few minutes early, which meant he actually got a good parking spot that wasn't a mile fucking trek from Sage C. However, as soon as he reached the vast building, he could feel the energy buzzing in the air, and it wasn't the good kind. Everyone he passed by seemed to be whispering quickly to each other, their eyes nervously gazing around, maniacal grins barely concealed. Dean knew that look all too well and his good mood quickly evaporated. The look meant that the carrion were out in full force, that they were waiting for the catastrophe that was about to happen. Whatever it was, the vultures would be there to pick off of the carcass, selling quotes to the gossip rags under the 'anonymous source close to the production' tag. That was something Dean had never done, a low he'd never let himself stoop to. He hadn't gotten into this business to make a little money off of passing around rumors. Frankly, he was a better fucking human being than that. 

He thought about asking one of the vultures what was going on but he didn't want to hear the details in such a lurid fashion so he made his way into the depths of Stage C, looking for Bobby. There was no sight of him inside so he found one of his construction assistants, who mentioned something about Bobby being out in the back lot. Dean knew that, technically, he should have stayed inside, rather than wandering off but he had to find out what was going on so he grabbed his headset and walkie and started the long trek, hooking himself up to the network as he went. 

Their backlot wasn't as huge as the other studio's were, but it was still over three miles of fully constructed sets. There was a full graveyard with the facade of a church in one corner, a building with easily movable walls that housed a replica of a prison cell block and, right smack dab in the middle, there was a small town street, complete with store fronts and a few houses. This was the set they made the most use of; all you had to do was switch out the signs, slap some paint on and bam, you had a dozen different streets for a dozen different movies. After weaving his way through the other sets, trying his hardest not to run into any of the crew coming off of night shoots (they were always really cranky and Dean really didn't feel like being yelled at), he finally made it to the street. Sure enough, Bobby was in the middle of the fake road, standing by a table that he had either hidden behind one of the building facades or had dragged out with him. There was a small sign on the table, one of those cheesy things people built that announced who lived there (in this case, it said _The Millers_ ) and Bobby was sanding its surface, sending dust everywhere. Dean waited until he had stopped sanding before he came closer, trying (and failing) not to choke on the dust floating through the air. 

“Dean, what the hell you doing out here?” he asked, peeling down the hospital mask that had covered his nose and mouth. “Doesn't Zachariah have somethin' for you to do?” 

“Bobby, what the hell is going on?” Dean ignored the comment about Zachariah because, quite frankly, he didn't want to jinx it. He had no idea how he'd made it so far away from Stage C without the guy's voice popping up in his ear but he wasn't going to lie and say he missed it. 

“Whaddya mean?”

“People are going crazy over there. You know the way they get when something's 'bout to happen, they get all twitchy and they get that stupid fucking smile.”

“I've been out here since five so I don't know what to tell you. I heard someone say yesterday that they were gonna screen some raw footage for the execs today. But they wouldn't have done that yet, it's too damn early.” 

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “You know how well that's gonna go over, right?”

“Oh, it's gonna be peachy,” Bobby said, his voice laden with sarcasm. Before Dean could respond, Zachariah's voice crackled into his headset, sounding extremely aggravated. 

_“Winchester, where the hell are you? There's a presentation starting in two hours, we've got a lot of goddamn preparation to do and the rest of these numbskulls are absolutely useless.”_

“Sorry sir, I was bringing some supplies out to Mr. Singer on the backlot,” he said, already walking as fast as he could down the street, nimbly stepping over extension cords as he went. “I'll be there soon as possible.” 

_“Good.”_ By the time Dean made it to the boardroom, Zachariah's yelling could be heard through half the building. The other PA's were rapidly setting up steel chairs in rows and another one of them was fiddling around with a projector screen that was attached to a hook in the ceiling. 

“Winchester!” Dean had hardly stepped into the room before Zachariah was practically jumping on him, thrusting a piece of yellow paper into his hands. “I need you to go pick up these orders ASAP and for all that's holy, do not fuck it up.” 

“On it.” Dean snatched the piece of paper and read it as he walked, eyes skimming the text four times before he truly comprehended what the fuck he was supposed to be picking up. The list was made up of various food items and the items were grouped together based on where Dean was meant to pick them up. There were four addresses on the list and although they were all fairly close, Dean knew that it was going to be close once you added in traffic and other delays. He stuck the list in the pocket of his jeans and walked faster, stepping out of Stage C and onto the main drag. 

Fuck, a golf cart would have been handy at that moment. 

“Dean-O!” Dean muttered _fuck_ but didn't slow his strides. He could hear sneakers hitting the ground behind him and then Gabriel was beside him, taking two steps for each of his own. 

“Gabriel, I really don't have time for this,” he said, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “What do you want?”

“Am I not allowed to just come say hi to my favorite future brother-in-law?” 

“Dude, what?” Dean asked, forcing himself to keep walking. “I'm not your future-”

“Not yet,” Gabriel interrupted and when Dean looked sideways, he could see the stupid grin plastered on the shorter man's face. “But maybe one day. Just this feeling I got, you know?”

“Is that all you wanted?” After a brief moment of looking thoughtful, he nodded and stopped walking, prompting Dean to mutter _thank God_. 

“I'll tell Cassie you said hi!” 

“You do that!” 

The errand didn't go too horribly; only one of the vendors decided to be snooty, even after Dean had shown him his ID and so he'd had to call Zachariah's cell phone, something he was always reluctant to do. Nonetheless, hearing his boss scream at the vendor through the phone had been worth every second so within an hour, he was back at the lot, the back of his car laden down with food. It was all fussy cuisine, way more stuck up than the ordinary, decent fare that craft services made and Dean really didn't want to know the combined price of all of it. However, since the closest spot he could get was probably a mile away from Stage C, Dean _did_ want to know how the fuck Zachariah expected him to carry all the food at once. He had good balancing skills, sure, but they weren't _that_ good. 

“Dean?” While the voice was coming from one of Castiel's siblings, he actually liked this one. Anna was just outside the car and when he stepped out of the driver's seat, she flashed him a quick smile. 

“What're you still doing around here?” he asked, flashing a quick look at the food in the back seat. He didn't really have time to be chatting but at least with Anna, he didn't have to worry about any sexual innuendos or really uncalled for comments. 

“Oh, more interviews, you know how it is,” she said. “You need some help with all that?”

“That would be fucking fantastic,” Dean said, opening the passenger door and passing Anna some of the trays of food. “I've gotta get this to the boardroom ASAP.” 

“Oh yeah, Cas mentioned something about a presentation today. Raw footage or something like that. Have you seen him today?” Dean grabbed the last tray of food, precariously balanced on top of the other three he was carrying and shut the door with his hip. 

“Not yet. I saw Gabriel though. He must have come with Cas.” 

“I am so sorry for whatever he said to you,” Anna said, easily carrying her own load of food. “Gabriel has never been good at keeping his mouth shut, or at doing what other people tell him what to do. It's why he got kicked out of the Order.” 

“Y'know, I'm not surprised about that at all.” They walked for a few moments in silence; Dean was too busy concentrating on not tripping over anything. That would have been disastrous and probably would have resulted in him losing his job. As they reached Stage C however, the air still buzzing with nervous energy, she gently nudged him with her trays so that he'd glance over. 

“Dean, may I ask... are you and Castiel together?” As they stepped into the marginally darker interior of the stage, Dean hoped that Anna could see his shrug. 

“Anna, it's a really weird situation,” he sighed, deftly stepping around a lighting rig that was being set up. “It's... not officially, I guess. But... yeah, I think so.” Saying the words made him feel like a weight had fallen off of his shoulders. Sure, he hadn't said it to Castiel, which meant there was still an aspect of uncertainty that he couldn't shake but nonetheless, he couldn't deny that he still felt much better. 

“Dean, my brother rarely lies,” she said softly as they neared the boardroom. “If he said something, you should believe it. Of course, it's none of my business,” she quickly added, “but, although the production has been making him very miserable, I haven't seen Castiel this happy in a very long time.” 

“I'll try my best to keep him that way.” They had reached the boardroom, where Zachariah was still bellowing at the other PA's. The entire room appeared to be set up, complete with tables although noticeably, the steel chairs had been removed in favor of some that looked slightly more cushy. Dean had no idea where they had conjured them up from but he had no time to question it. Almost as soon as he and Anna had set the food down on the table, Zachariah was turning to him and Dean was almost positive that he knew what his next words were going to be. 

“Winchester, smoothie, now!” 

“Yes, sir!” He didn't even notice that Anna was still behind him until he was out of the cluster of boardrooms. 

“Smoothie?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Yeah, it's a daily thing. He might be addicted to them. You wanna come along?”

“Might as well. I'm sure Cas is going to be busy for the next little while and I don't have an interview until tonight. You don't mind the company?”

“Not at all. Way better than Gabriel.” 

“Dean!”

Speak of the fucking devil.


	16. our cynical minds will make it totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy Monday lovely readers! I just wanted to thank all of you who wished me luck on my midterm; I think it went okay but at the very least, it's finished so now we can get back to Dean and Cas! I think you're going to like this chapter...
> 
> Special dedication to SkippyMcVy for being an absolute sweetheart. <3
> 
> Title for this chapter comes from [Vegas Lights](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIs7QtCsUAg) by Panic! At The Disco. yes, I really like that album.

Dean tried his absolute hardest to convince Gabriel to stay behind (and, to her credit, Anna did as well) but it was to no avail and as a result, he found himself going on a smoothie run with Gabriel stashed in the back seat and Anna beside him. Admittedly, it was better than usual; he did appreciate the company or, at least, he appreciated Anna's. Although they looked much different, Dean was convinced that Anna and Castiel had to be full siblings. They were both alike in demeanor, even if Anna had adapted better to life in the city. But they were both extremely truthful and, at the end of the day, they were both two of the most caring people Dean had ever met in his life. 

And then, there was Gabriel. 

“How was dinner with Cas?” Anna asked him midway through the trip, turning her head so that she could look into the backseat. Dean had no idea how Gabriel had done it, considering he was a good three inches shorter than his sister, but he had somehow managed to take up the entirety of the backseat, draping his arms and flopping his legs so that he had one foot behind both the passenger and driver's seat. 

“Eh, it was fine,” he said and when Dean quickly glanced up into the mirror, he could see him shrugging. “Went to some upscale burger place. Dessert was fucking fantastic though, they had this cake with chocolate icing and hazelnut crème and...” He trailed off but just from the sound of his voice, Dean was pretty sure Gabriel was about to talk himself into a foodgasm. 

“Hey, no drooling on my seat!” he yelled back, turning the wheel to merge into the next lane. 

“Oh, I'm sure there's been worse things than drool back here,” Gabriel replied. 

“Gabriel!” Anna yelled, whipping around in her seat. That was another thing her and Cas had in common; although it was the first time Dean had really seen her genuinely angry, she looked absolutely terrifying, like she had fire and brimstone blazing in her eyes. Gabriel immediately shrank back, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“Sorry sis, didn't mean to be crude,” he muttered, drawing only a snort of derision from Anna. Thankfully, Dean had arrived at the smoothie bar so he didn't have to deal with anymore dysfunctional family dynamics for the time being. As he walked in the door, the girl behind the counter nodded at him and started making Zachariah's order. Dean didn't know if Zachariah just gave them a payment at the beginning or end of the month or something but thankfully, he never had to pay so once the order was done, he quickly dashed out, glancing down at his watch. The meeting had to be underway by now and he had a very bad feeling about how things were going to be back at the studio. 

Anna and Gabriel were still bickering once he got back to the Impala, the words flying out of their mouths faster than Dean thought possible. With most of his attention put on driving and not crashing, he only caught a few words, most of them curse words coming from Anna's end. Gabriel seemed to be enjoying the whole thing far too much; even though he sounded completely indignant regarding some of the accusations Anna was throwing at him, he still had a giant grin on his face. He was also sucking on a lollipop that he had apparently procured from his pocket, which made the whole situation even more grimly comical. 

“Jesus, you two fight worse than me and Sammy ever did,” he muttered once there was a break in the argument. 

“We were in close quarters for far too long,” Anna mumbled, pulling out her cell phone and rapidly tapping the touch screen with her fingers. 

“Oh, not even!” Gabriel retorted, leaning forward so that his arms were folded across the back of the front seat. “I was ten when you were born!” 

“And you were annoying the entire time,” Anna said, not looking up from her phone. Thankfully, they were back at the studio so Dean grabbed the nearest parking spot and got out, trying not to drop the smoothie on the ground. 

“Listen, I gotta go so if you wanna keep fighting, just lock the car when you're finished,” he said, tossing Anna his keys and moving. He made a mental note to tell Cas that his family has some really unresolved issues as he moved as fast as he could towards Stage C. 

The inside of the cavernous building was eerily quiet. There was no filming going on, what with the director and producers in the meeting and it seemed like most of the buzzards had deserted the building, gone to roost somewhere else until the event actually happened. Zachariah was lingering over by the crafts services table and Dean dropped his smoothie off to him. He muttered an acknowledgment, his gaze directed over at the warren of boardrooms, his fingers tapping off of the table. 

“So, sir, what do you want me to do now?” Dean asked. Zachariah was never quiet like this, he was always shouting orders or grovelling at an actor's feet or spewing ridicule. But now he was silent, sucking on his straw with a weirdly blank expression. 

“I don't know, find something to entertain yourself with,” he muttered, his gaze never moving from the boardrooms. “I'll call you when I need you.” Dean merely shrugged, grabbed a piece of cold pizza from the food table and took off. There didn't seem to be anything he could do inside so he left, taking the front entrance so that he didn't have to risk passing by Ruby's trailer. Anna and Gabriel were nowhere to be seen and although the idea hadn't popped in his mind, he really, really hoped that they hadn't taken off in the Impala. He'd seen that Bobby's truck was still in the parking lot when he'd pulled in so he started the long trek towards the back lot, munching his pizza as he went. Sure enough, Bobby was still on the street set; the sign he'd been sanding earlier was hung up on one of the residential facades and he was now up on a stepladder, slathering gray paint onto the same facade. 

“Hear anything about the meeting yet?” he asked as Dean came up beside him, leaning in the door frame of the fake house. 

“Nah, thing just started. Zachariah told me to go away though, so that was kinda weird. Anything you need help with?” 

“Grab a paintbrush and get going,” Bobby muttered, going back to the task at hand. “Gotta get all these damn houses painted by tomorrow and the rest of those idjits are freaking useless.” He pointedly glared across the way to where two of his assistants were slopping light blue paint on a storefront. They were both laughing loudly and neither of them seemed to notice that Bobby was staring at them like he was trying to mentally remove the ladders from underneath their feet. Dean did as he was told, finding a paintbrush and getting to work. Finding another stepladder was another issue entirely so he waited until one of the assistants across the road left before he took theirs, ignoring the meek protests of the other assistant. The houses weren't too high so by standing on the top step, he could just reach the last strip of siding before the roof. He was pretty sure that there were supposed to be rules and safety precautions about this kind of thing but Bobby always seemed to know when the safety inspector was coming so Dean didn't bother. If he fell, he fell, that was all there was to it. 

By the time Zachariah's voice popped back into his ear, he had gotten halfway down the wall and there was paint stuck to his fingernails and his wrists and splattered down the front of his shirt. Bobby had it worse; when he turned to ask Dean something, there was gray paint threaded through his beard and Dean didn't think that he'd be able to continue holding onto the ladder, he was laughing so hard. 

_“Winchester, you still around?”_ It took Dean a moment to realize who was speaking to him, because he'd never heard Zachariah sound so quiet and complacent. 

“Yes sir, out on the backlot with Mr. Singer.” 

_“Well whenever you finish there, go home. We're shutting down for the day. I'll see you tomorrow.”_

“Uh, okay... see you tomorrow.” He slowly removed his headset, draping it around his neck and turning off his walkie talkie. 

“Somethin' wrong?” Bobby asked, turning his head although the hand with the paintbrush in it kept moving. 

“Don't know,” Dean said. “Zachariah just said we're done for the day.” 

“Little early for that, ain't it?” Bobby remarked, turning back to the wall.

“Yeah. Got a bad feeling about that meeting,” Dean muttered. No matter what had happened on set, he'd never been let go early, even on the days when the stars were throwing complete temper tantrums. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that the meeting had gone head over feet and part of him really, really wanted to go find Cas and make sure that he was alright. But on the other hand, both of his siblings were already wandering around the set; Dean had a feeling that they'd be able to provide better comfort than he ever could. He turned his attention back to the wall and by the time he finished it, his stomach was growling and there was sweat coursing down his back. Bobby didn't look like he was going to be stopping anytime soon so he decided to leave anyways. The walk through the backlot was far too quiet; it was actually extremely creepy and he half expected a goblin or a ghost or some other shit to pop out from behind a set. 

He knew it was bullshit but hey, walking faster never killed anyone. 

He decided to grab some more food from the crafts services table before he left; it saved spending money on lunch and he was pretty sure he had next to no food in his apartment anyways. If the back lot had been eerily quiet, it was nothing compared to Stage C. Although the doors were still open, the place sounded like it was entirely vacant. The food table was completely abandoned and although it had been picked over pretty well, there were still a few mini chocolate cupcakes and sandwiches left over, which he stacked onto a plate. It was only as he turned to leave, cupcake already shoved in his mouth, that he realized there was a repetitive thudding noise echoing throughout the space. It sounded like it was coming from the boardroom and although he knew that he didn't really need to go check it out, curiosity got the best of him. He followed the noise to the best of his ability and as he got closer, he could hear quiet voices accompanying the thudding. The noise was coming from one of the boardrooms, as he'd expected; if he remembered correctly, it was the very room he'd eaten lunch with Cas in for the first time. The door was open and he slowly poked his head around the corner, hoping that he wasn't about to barge in on an important executive meeting. 

Instead, what he was met with was Castiel sitting on the floor in the corner, leaning his head against the wall. His fist was pounding against the thin wall in a steady rhythm and Anna was kneeling beside him, one of her hands resting on his shoulder. Gabriel was sitting at his feet and for once, he looked completely serious. Castiel was staring straight ahead, past Gabriel, his eyes fixated on empty space. 

“Cas, it's going to be okay,” Anna murmured, squeezing his shoulder tightly. “I'm sure they'll change their minds about it, they won't do another re-write.”

“You don't understand,” he growled, his fist continuing to slam into the wall like a metronome. “They'll do whatever they need to, Anna.” Dean felt like he was witnessing an intensely private moment; he was no good at comforting people, hadn't exactly had the best of role models when it came to emotional support. He wanted to try, he really did, because Cas deserved it but it seemed like Anna and Gabriel already had it on lock down so he tried to beat a hasty retreat. But Castiel's gaze shifted before he could get away, locking onto him and yeah, Dean was pretty sure he was fucked. Castiel's blue eyes were ringed with red around the edges, although there were no other signs of him having cried. Yet he didn't look angry either; he just looked completely and utterly _tired_ and honestly, Dean completely understood why. 

“Sorry, I just... I'll leave now,” Dean muttered, taking a step away from the door. 

“Dean, stay.” When he turned back, Cas was still staring at him, his eyes wide and open and pleading. Anna glanced from him to her brother before standing up, squeezing Castiel's shoulder one more time. Gabriel took her lead and silently followed her out of the room, leaving him alone with Cas. 

“You going to be okay?” Dean asked, stashing his plate of food on the table, unsure of whether or not to sit down. Castiel's fist had stopped slamming into the wall and he could see that the repeated impact had actually left a large dent in the cheap plasterboard. 

“I don't know,” Cas said softly, scooting even closer to the wall. Dean took that as an invitation to sit down and he slid down, nearly sitting on the edge of Castiel's trench coat. “I'm just... I'm tired, Dean. I'm tired of this business. I wish I had never agreed to this in the first place.” 

“What happened in the meeting?” Castiel stared off into space for a few moments before he cleared his throat, clasping his hands loosely between his knees. 

“They showed the producers and the executives some of the raw footage that was filmed so far, and... they _hated_ it, Dean. They said that there was no way they were going to make money off of it and... they want us to change everything. And the ending... they hate the ending of the book, they don't want the demons to win. I... I won't lie and say I understand their reasoning, because I don't. I don't understand any of this,” he finished, sighing miserably, head dropping down to stare at his lap. 

“I just want to go home,” he said quietly and even though he felt true empathy for Cas, that was almost drowned out by the sheer rage bubbling up inside of him. Castiel was an inherently good person, a good man and a damn good writer and it pissed Dean off to see how his work was being absolutely destroyed, how his very soul was getting wrecked by the goddamn shitstorm of a production. Yet he had absolutely no idea what to say to Cas. He could say he was sorry but it wouldn't do anything. Instead, he shifted enough so that he could sling one of his arms over Castiel's shoulder and pull him against his side. Open door be damned, he was doing the only thing he could and Castiel immediately slumped against him, letting his head drop onto his shoulder. One of his hands grabbed the loose material gathered around the knee of Dean's jeans and held on, twisting it like he had his shirt all those weeks ago at Stanford. Dean turned his head and dropped a kiss into the citrus-smelling mop of Castiel's dark hair, leaving his lips there even after the initial kiss had ended. 

“This town blows,” he muttered against his scalp. “I'm sorry that it fucked you over.” That, at the very least, wasn't a lie; it was a sorry that he could actually get behind. 

“It hasn't been all bad,” Castiel murmured against his neck, his warm breath washing over his clavicle in the process. “I got to meet you. That wasn't too horrible.” Dean could hear the teasing lilt in his voice and he pulled back a bit so that he could see Castiel's face. Although his eyes were still ringed with red splotches, he was grinning mischievously at Dean, who couldn't help but grin in return. Apparently the smile was just fucking contagious. 

“Not horrible, eh?” he asked, poking Castiel's hand where he was still twisting the denim of his jeans between his fingers. “I'm offended.” 

“You're easily offended,” Castiel said softly, his eyes flicking from where his fingers had abruptly stopped moving to Dean's face. Dean felt like the air in the room was growing thinner, like the space was getting smaller and smaller. Cas was staring up at him like he was the most important thing in the entire world and Dean had no idea how to react to that. It was terrifying, it was completely overwhelming, it was absolutely amazing all at the same time. 

“Maybe a bit,” he murmured in return and he let his head drop down until his forehead was touching Castiel's. This close, he could see the darker blue flecks in Cas' eyes, could see every hair of stubble dotting his upper lip. “You could just apologize though.” 

“I could,” Cas said slowly and Dean could practically feel his mouth moving against his and he really, really hoped that Anna and Gabriel weren't standing just beyond the doorway, their ears pressed against the wall. He wouldn't put it past Gabriel but he could only hope that Anna would drag him away if he had really tried to do that. “Or I could just kiss you. Would that be an acceptable apology?” 

“Fuck Cas, yes,” he groaned, his fingers trailing up Castiel's shoulder until they were pressed into his neck, leaving half-moon crescents against his skin. “That would be more than acceptable.” 

“Good.” With that, Castiel surged forward and all the weeks, all the tension, had come down to this, to Castiel pressing his lips against his, fingers eagerly grasping for his hair. Dean immediately returned the favor, tightening his fingers on Castiel's neck, dragging his thumb upward until it was pressing into the hollow underneath Castiel's ear. Castiel's lips were chapped and he flicked his tongue against the tattered skin. He could feel the deep moan rumbling out of Castiel's chest and he pulled back so that he could hear it in the air. It was a wonderful noise that sent the best chills down Dean's spine so he leaned in again, trying to coax it back out. Castiel's hand tightened in his hair, running down the back of his head to the nape of his neck and when Dean poked his tongue out again, Castiel met him in in the middle, brushing the tip of his tongue against Dean's bottom lip. 

Fuck, Dean didn't think that he _ever_ wanted to stop kissing Castiel. His fingers had slipped underneath his trench coat and he grabbed the fabric of his button-up in his hand, bunching it between his fingertips. Castiel's hand slipped down underneath the collar of his shirt, his nails scratching at his back and amazing as it was, Dean thought that things were getting way too heated for such a public space and he reluctantly pulled away, leaning his head against the wall. Castiel rested his head against his shoulder again, chuckling against his skin. 

“Cas, can I ask you something?” he asked, letting his fingers slowly card through Castiel's hair. Castiel murmured a noise of assent against his neck, the sound rumbling against his skin. “How long have you wanted to do that for?”

“Before Stanford,” he said quietly, his breath catching as Dean's nails scraped against the back of his neck. 

“Jesus, that long,” he muttered, letting his eyes drop closed. “Why didn't we do this sooner?”

“I was waiting for you.” 

“Well, I was waiting for you.” 

“Good God, you two are pathetic.” Gabriel popped around the corner before Dean could formulate a further response, grinning like the cat that had caught the canary. “Took you fucking long enough.”

“Gabriel, now is not the time,” Castiel growled, sending a glare towards his brother. “Go away.” 

“Look, I didn't just pop back in to watch you mack on your boyfriend,” he shot back, his grin immediately having vanished. “That douchebag director is looking for you and I figured I'd catch you before he did, know what I mean?” Even as he finished speaking, Dean could hear Crowley talking somewhere in the distance, his distinctive accent echoing so that it was hard to pinpoint which direction it was coming from or how far away he was. 

“I guess I better go,” Dean said, quickly untangling himself from Castiel and standing up. “I'll see you tomorrow, alright?” 

“Okay. Bye Dean.” He slipped out the door with Gabriel hot on his tail, practically bouncing with each of his damn steps. He waited until they had left Stage C, passing Crowley on the way before he stopped and turned, sighing loudly. 

“Okay, get on with it,” he groaned, pretty sure that Gabriel was about to burst out of his skin. 

“I knew it, I fucking _knew_ it!”

This was going to take awhile.

***

After enduring five minutes of Gabriel's ridiculous gloating and unique sexual innuendos, Anna reappeared and forcefully dragged her older brother away, smiling apologetically at Dean as she went. He decided to head home; there was nothing else to do around the set and since he had no idea how much longer Castiel was going to be in the meeting with Crowley, there was no other reason to wait around. There was nothing else to do at his apartment either, however, so instead, he went straight to the Roadhouse. It wasn't officially open for a few hours but Aunt Ellen was there anyways, unloading one of her delivery trucks. While she appeared to be doing just fine on her own, the instant she saw Dean, she immediately passed the job onto him, heading back inside to do something or another. He didn't mind but by the time he unloaded the multiple cases of liquor, there was a kink developing in his back and he felt like there was sweat coating every inch of his skin, in addition to the paint that was still crusted onto his hands.

“What the hell do you need all this booze for?” he asked as he brought the last case in, dropping it maybe a little too hard on the ground. 

“People in this town sure like their drink,” she said in return, glaring at him as he jostled the box, this time by accident. “Your uncle is one of those people, by the way. So are you.” 

“I don't drink that much,” he muttered. 

“Nah, not anymore,” she teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Speaking of which, you want something?” 

“It's three o'clock in the afternoon,” Dean said slowly, glancing at the clock that hung over the bar. 

“You doing anything for the rest of the day?”

“Didn't really plan on it.”

“Well in that case, you can have a drink,” she said, turning to the bar and grabbing him a beer from the small refrigerator underneath the bar. “I'm sure I can find some stuff for you to do.”

***

Bobby showed up at the bar a little over two hours later, his beard almost entirely shot through with paint. It had dripped all over his clothes, leaving streaks of gray, lavender and blue over his jeans and his flannel shirt. He looked completely comical and Dean didn't even bother trying to hold his laughter in, dropping his head down on the bar where he was sitting talking to Aunt Ellen.

“Shut up, idjit,” he muttered, scratching at the back of his hand, sending flakes of paint falling to the ground. “What time did you head out?” 

“Round two thirty, I think. Get the set all done?”

“Yeah, the houses are all done,” Bobby answered but he seemed completely distracted. “So I guess you missed the big blowup?” 

“You mean after the whole raw footage fiasco? Yeah, I saw it. It wasn't that bad.” 

“It got worse,” Bobby said, sitting down at the bar as well. Wordlessly, Ellen handed him a beer as well and he popped the cap off, draining half of it in one swig. Dean didn't like the look on his face, didn't like how tired Bobby looked. Sure, Bobby _always_ looked tired but this was different, like he'd just witnessed a complete explosion. 

“Bobby, what the hell happened?” he asked, tapping his fingers nervously off of his beer bottle. 

“Well, let's just say that I'm gonna be going back there tomorrow morning to put the boardroom back together. It doesn't have a wall anymore.” 

“Holy shit,” Dean muttered, having another swig of beer. “Was it...”

“Yeah, it was Cas,” Bobby finished. “Don't know what the hell happened but I've never seen anything like it. Looked even worse than when Ruby trashed her trailer.” Dean had no idea what he was supposed to do with what Bobby was telling him. Just when he thought he had figured Castiel out, he did something else that further confused him and although he was completely sure that Cast was completely justified in freaking out, he still wasn't sure how to handle the information. 

“Was he still on set when you left?” he asked.

“Dunno. Don't have a clue where he went, Dean.” He finished his beer off and dropped it on the bar, sighing heavily. Ellen drew him into a conversation and while Bobby was distracted, Dean quickly shot off a text to Cas' number. 

_Cas, you okay?_

He didn't expect to receive a text back immediately, but he also hadn't expected to receive no answer at all. He still had no reason to head back to the apartment so he stuck around, helping Ellen go through the opening routine of the bar. It'd been awhile since he'd tended bar but there was nothing wrong with keeping his skills up to par so when the place started filling up with customers, he stayed behind the bar, slinging drinks and wiping the surface down. The hours flew by quickly and before he knew it, the customers had finished trickling out and he still hadn't gotten a message back. He dropped Jo off at home and collapsed into bed, exhausted from the day. 

His eyes had just closed when his phone vibrated on his bedside table. He considered just leaving it (it was probably just Jo or his aunt telling him he'd forgotten something) but he groped out and grabbed it, nearly dropping it onto the floor before he managed to get it in front of his face. The light nearly blinded him but after he blinked rapidly and squinted, he managed to just barely see the words. 

_No. i'm not._


	17. oh baby, don't you know I suffer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever mentioned that you're all amazing? Because you are. You're really all amazing and I appreciate all of your feedback with all my heart. <3
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from [Supermassive Black Hole](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBb-J0hcBQA) by Muse.

Rather than be woken up by the rather annoying tone of his alarm, Dean awoke to his AC/DC ringtone blaring. It jolted him out of a dream and he groped for where he'd dropped his phone on the pillow beside him, fumbling with the buttons without bothering to look at who was calling. 

“Hello?” he groaned, pressing his face into his pillow. The sun was just beginning to filter through his curtains but the rays were still tinged with gray light. It was way too damn early to be woken up. 

_“Winchester? You've got the day off.”_

“What?” 

_“Don't come to work, dammit!”_ The call ended before he could say another word and Dean held his phone in front of his face, staring at it for a few moments before he shrugged halfheartedly and threw it back onto the other pillow, rolling back over and punching his pillow into the comfiest position again. 

He'd figure out whatever the fuck was going on when his body decided it was time to get up. 

That time turned out to be four hours later. When he woke up for the second time, his phone was only inches from his face. It was flashing red, indicating that he had a message and he wearily tapped the screen, bringing up his texts. There were two of them, one from Sam and one from a number he didn't recognize. He decided to deal with Sam's first. 

_Hey how's the produc. going?_

**Right now, it isn't** , he quickly typed before turning his attention to the other number. It seemed vaguely familiar but it wasn't until he could read the entirety of the message that he realized that it was Gabriel's, still lingering in his phone from a few days previous, although he hadn't properly saved it. 

_Dude you talked to Cas lately?_

**Not today why?** To his surprise, Dean got a response back before he even managed to untangle himself from the covers but he waited until he had swung his legs over the edge of the bed before he looked at it. 

_He wont respond to me. Dunno where he is._

**Maybe because you're annoying?**

_He won't answer Anna either, asshole._

If Cas wasn't answering Anna, something was wrong. Dean had never answered Castiel's text the night before; he'd been too tired and it had held way too many possibilities for his exhausted brain to handle. He flicked back through his messages until he found the text again and stared at it, hoping that it would eventually make more goddamn sense. 

_No i'm not._

Things had been going so, so well; it only made sense that everything was going to go belly-up. Regardless of whatever the fuck they spun for the tabloids, productions never went well. There was always something that went wrong, something that fucked things up. Sure, Dean had seen things going downhill, had known that there was no way Castiel was going to come out of the production scot-free but this was just getting worse and worse with each passing day. 

**Cas, man, where are you? Gabe and Anna are worried.** He sent the message off and immediately started getting antsy. He had absolutely nothing to do; he was caught on housework, Baby was running perfectly fine, even his goddamn bills were paid. He had to do something, he couldn't just wait around the house for something to happen to him. So he picked up his phone again and hit one in his speed dial, cradling the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he rummaged through his laundry hamper for a mostly clean pair of jeans. 

“Hey, Bobby, you still working today?”

***

Although Stages A and B were still buzzing with activity, their filming spilling out of the doors in the forms of costume racks and wayward drops of fake blood, Stage C was positively abandoned. The crafts services table was nothing but a few old napkins and crumbs and most of the overhead lighting was turned off, with the exception of a few essential ones flicked on above the boardrooms. The only sign of life was the cacophony of hammers and cursing coming from the boardroom area and when Dean looked closely, he could see a thin layer of dust hanging in the air just underneath the lights. He followed the sound of Bobby's gruff voice to one of the rooms and even though he knew Bobby and his crew had been working on the room for hours, it was still easy to see that the place had been absolutely destroyed. Through the layer of plaster dust, he could see a massive dent in the wall opposite the door that looked an awful lot like it had been put there by a thrown chair. There was a pile of splintered wood in the middle of the room that vaguely resembled a table and there were numerous spots around the wall where he could see fresh plaster drying. Bobby was standing in one corner, coated in fine white dust from head to toe, wearing a pair of safety glasses as he scraped plaster over a small hole in the wall.

“Jesus Christ Bobby, he fucked destroyed the place,” he said, grabbing a white medical mask off a nearby table and shaking dust off of it before he wrapped it around his head. 

“You're telling me,” he muttered. “We're gonna have to paint the damn thing again too.” Now that he was closer to the wall, Dean could see reddish-brown specks staining the surface. It was particularly concentrated near the various small dents in the wall and Dean had let out his own frustrations on surfaces enough times to recognize that it was blood. 

“Do we have any idea what the fuck happened?” he asked, picking up a bucket of liquid plaster and slathering it over one of the more shallow holes. 

“Well, ain't heard nothing but rumors,” Bobby said slowly, “but overheard someone saying that they're trying to buy him out.” 

“Wait, actually?” Bobby nodded and pulled his trucker cap off, scratching a hand through his gnarled hair. 

“Yep. They probably wanna change that ending again or something.”

“Wouldn't fucking doubt it.” He took another quick glance at his phone. Sammy still hadn't answered him (probably because he had class) but neither had Castiel, which was quite worrisome. He wanted to send him another message but he was sure there was a good explanation for it. Instead, he settled on sending a message to Anna, quickly asking her if she had heard anything from her brother. As soon as that was done, he threw himself into work, painting and filling in holes and sanding down plaster. By the time the room was covered in a fresh coat of paint, Dean was really hungry and was pretty sure that his clothes were permanently engrained with plaster dust. There wasn't anything they could do until the paint finished drying so when Bobby deemed it time for lunch, Dean finally paid attention to his phone again. He had two texts, one from Anna and one from Castiel himself. He quickly opened Castiel's text, not caring that there was paint and grime embedded in the whorls of his fingerprints that was tarnishing the keys of his phone.

_They want me to give up. They want me to take their money and run._ While Dean couldn't help but smirk at the song reference (which he was sure was completely unintentional), he felt like a stone had settled in his stomach. He'd had a feeling that it was going to come to this, that they were going to try and peer pressure him out of the production but he didn't want Castiel to yield. Sure, it would have been the easier choice but he didn't want him to take the easy way out. He wanted him to stand up for his work, for what he had put his heart and soul into.

**Where are you?** he finally typed, trying to wipe off his smeared fingerprints after he had finished the text. One of the construction assistants had shown up with a platter full of pizza, which Dean suspected he had stolen from either Stage A or B. They were eating outside, sitting on the ground, leaning up against the wall of Stage C and Dean wasn't going to lie, the fresh air felt fucking amazing in his lungs. His next text came when he was halfway through his first slice of pizza and he knew that his phone was going to be absolutely disgusting, between the grease and the dust and the dirt. 

_Headquarters. I don't think they're going to let me leave here until I sell._

**Don't do it. It isn't worth it.** While he was waiting for Castiel's next response, he quickly read his message from Anna, who sounded rather frantic. 

_I've got a bad feeling about Cas. Try to look after him alright?_

**I'm doing my best Anna. Gonna need your help.** His phone fell silent after that and after polishing off two slices of cold pizza, he went right back to work, promptly covering himself in more paint. By the time they were finished, the room looked almost back to normal, aside from the table, which was completely and utterly destroyed. The only thing they could do was take the shattered pieces and throw them into the massive dumpster that was around the back of the building. After that, it was just another night with his television, beer and texting Sammy on his phone until he passed out on the couch. When he woke up the next morning, his phone was dead and while he was waiting for it to charge, he decided to browse the internet just to kill some time. 

That's when he saw the article.

It was the first linked article on the site Dean had bookmarked for movie news and as soon as he saw the title, he clicked on it, cursing his internet as it stalled. Finally, it loaded and he read it as fast as he could, skimming over the text, feeling his stomach sink more and more with each word he read. 

Fuck, this was not happening.

  
Production of Heavenly Warfare Continuing On Without Original Writer 

Breaking news! Thanks to an 'anonymous source closely involved with the production,' we have exclusively learned that Castiel Milton, the author of best-selling novel _Heavenly Warfare_ has left the production of the film adaptation of his novel. According to our source, Milton left the project over severe creative differences, with the ending of the film being one major problematic aspect. While we have no word as to what Milton will be receiving for leaving the project, we will keep you updated as the story develops. 

Dean stared at the article for another moment before he slammed the lid of his laptop shut, shoving it across his coffee table. This wasn't what he'd expected, not at all, he hadn't expected Castiel to break down so goddamn easily. He was trying his best to take it with a grain of salt; after all, “breaking news” was reported a dozen times a day in a dozen different tabloids and most of it was just complete fucking nonsense. This had to be another one of those instances, had to be the result of an intern who was just trying to make a few bucks. That was what it had to be.

His phone had charged enough to turn back on and between the two Milton siblings that he hadn't kissed, he had six texts. He quickly skimmed through them as they progressed through various levels of urgency. The last message from Anna was _Dean, please, I don't know where Cas is_ , while the last one from Gabriel was essentially the same thing, with considerably more profanity. He quickly dialed Anna's number and she picked up on the first ring, sounding out of breath. 

“Dean, is Cas there with you?” she panted and Dean had a feeling that she'd been pacing for hours.

“No, he isn't there with you?”

“No, we don't have a fucking clue,” Gabriel said, apparently having snatched the phone away from Anna. “He called us and told us that they bought him out and then he hung up. Nobody knows where he is.”

“Have you tried calling him again?” Dean was already standing up, unplugging his phone and heading towards the bedroom so he could get dressed. 

“No, you idiot, of _course_ we've tried calling him,” Gabriel snapped and Dean could actually hear the noise as Anna snatched the phone away from his hand. Even then, he didn't stop bitching in the background, although Anna quickly drowned him out. 

“Ignore him, he's just concerned,” Anna said and Dean could hear a door slam behind her. “I've tried calling him at least ten times but they're just going straight to voice mail now.” 

“Maybe he just needs some time alone,” Dean said but even though, truth be told, he really did believe that people should be allowed to deal with their anger in any way they wanted, this situation was slightly different. This was more than just a quick miff or a fight with somebody. This was a serious conflict, one that would ruin other people's lives and although Dean was pretty sure Castiel had the mental fortitude to persevere, he still didn't think that him being alone was conducive to his mental state. 

“If that's what he wants, then we will leave him alone,” Anna said softly but in the background, Dean could hear Gabriel screaming _no we won't_ ; apparently he'd opened the door of the room again. “But we need to know where he is, Dean. I'm sure you saw what he did to the boardroom...”

“Saw it up close and personal.” He sat down on his bed long enough to pull on the least hole filled pair of socks he could find before bouncing back up, grabbing his car keys and wallet and shoving them into his pocket. “Where are you two? I'll meet you there.” 

“Still at my hotel. I'll keep trying him but I don't think anything is going to change.” 

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

He noticed after he hung up the phone that he had missed a call from Zachariah although thankfully, when he checked his voice mail, it was just another message saying that he didn't have to come in. It wasn't like he had planned on doing so anyways but the fact that it was sanctioned by his boss certainly made it a lot easier to not feel guilty about the whole situation.

He managed to make it to the hotel within a decent amount of time and he strode through the lobby and up to Anna's room. His knuckles had barely rapped the wood before she was opening the door and literally tugging him inside by the collar of his shirt. The room was in disarray; there were candy wrappers scattered across seemingly every flat surface, the garbage was overflowing with Styrofoam cups and there was a visible groove in the carpet where somebody had been pacing extensively. Gabriel was sitting on the edge of the massive bed, swinging his feet back and forth so that they hit the frame with a dull thud every few seconds. There were bags under both his and Anna's eyes and based on the jittery movements of his fingers against the blanket, only a sugar high was keeping him awake. 

“How long have you two been awake for?” Dean asked. The further he walked into the room, the more he could smell coffee and sugar and sure, he loved both of those things but this was completely breaking the guidelines of moderation. 

“Since Cas called us last night, around midnight,” Anna sighed, sitting down on the bed beside her brother. “Haven't heard from him since. Gabriel's been reading the gossip sites to see if he's gotten into any trouble.” 

“Read lots of intriguing things about the sex lives of socialites, but nothing about the lil brother,” Gabriel continued. He leaned down over the edge of the bed and brought up another candy bar from somewhere on the floor. 

“We haven't heard from the police yet either, and seeing as I'm pretty sure he has about six people in his phone they would call if he was in trouble, we can assume he hasn't been arrested,” Anna said, flopping backwards on the bed and shoving her bangs out of her face. 

“So basically, we're still at square one,” Dean said, leaning against the wall. 

“Yup,” Gabriel muttered around a mouth full of chocolate, licking some off the corner of his mouth. “We've got diddly-squat.”

“Well, why don't you two get some shut-eye and I'll keep calling. I'll call Bobby, let him know what's going on, sound good?' With a nod, Anna crawled up the bed so that her head was on the pillow before she closed her eyes, not even bothering to get underneath the blankets. Gabriel, on the other hand, finished devouring his chocolate bar first, his unoccupied fingers still bouncing up and down against the bed. Dean had seen people on drugs who looked less wired that he did. 

“How many of those have you had?” Dean asked, nodding his head towards the brightly colored wrappers dotting the surface of the desk. 

“Fifteen,” Gabriel quickly replied, tossing his now empty wrapper towards the nightstand beside the bed. He missed but merely shrugged as the trash drifted to the floor. “I think they've stopped working now. Sleep might be a good idea.” 

“Probably one of the best ones you've ever had,” Dean muttered. Gabriel looked like he had a snappy retort sitting upon his lips but on second though, he merely shrugged and fell down beside his sister, sprawling on his back with his limbs taking up far more room than he probably needed. His limbs continued to jitter for a few moments and then he was fast asleep. Dean waited until Anna had certifiably passed out as well before he picked up his phone and called Castiel, crossing his fingers that the author would pick up. 

Nothing. He only reached his automated (and rather creepy) voice message and half an hour later, when he tried again, he got the same thing. In the meantime, he called Bobby and asked him to keep an eye out on the set, although he really doubted that Castiel would be going back there for any reason that didn't involve destroying the damn thing. On a whim, he decided to call Ellen as well; he didn't know what the chances were of Castiel going to the Roadhouse but it never hurt to cover all the possibilities. 

Then, there was nothing left to do but wait. Dean had never been good at waiting.


	18. come on look me in my bloodshot eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you all had a lovely weekend! My week is going to be pretty busy so the next chapter won't be up until Friday evening, probably around 7 EST. Until then, I hope you all have a wonderful week and I hope you enjoy this latest chapter, although it is shorter than average. xo.
> 
> Title from Bloodshot by Jack's Mannequin. (:

When Dean woke, it was with a jolt so strong that he nearly fell out of the chair he was sitting on. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but there had been nothing better to do; Anna and Gabriel had both been thoroughly passed out, trolling around the town in the Impala looking for Cas hadn't really been an option and although he kept repeatedly refreshing the most popular celebrity gossip sites, nothing was coming up regarding Castiel's possible location. While the story of his departure from the production seemed to be getting bigger, most of the stories ended with the statement that _neither Mr. Milton or his agent could be reached for comment_. Indeed, Dean had seen Anna's phone go off multiple times but all of the numbers had been marked as blocked or unknown so he'd ignored them. 

And then he'd fallen asleep and woken up with a godawful pain in his neck and saliva crusted against his face. There was a dent in the side of his face from where he'd been smushed against the desk and he rubbed at it aimlessly, trying to flatten out the creases that had formed in his skin. When he glanced over at the bed, Anna was sitting up against the headboard, looking down at her phone, rapidly typing. When she looked up, she caught Dean's eye and smiled, looking a little less tired than before. 

“I woke up to nineteen voice mails, not one of them from him,” she sighed. “I haven't even started going through the emails yet.” 

“What are you going to tell them?” Dean asked, scratching at the dried gunk around his mouth. She shrugged and, leaning over her still slumbering brother, she sat her phone back on the nightstand, steadfastly ignoring it when it vibrated again. 

“Dunno. I shouldn't really say anything to them until I find out from Cas what the hell happened but at this rate, I'm going to have to come up with some bullshit sound bite just to tide them over.” 

“I'm sure you'll come up with something,” Dean said, standing up so that he could restore circulation to all of his limbs. 

“'Course I will, it's my damn job,” she chided, sending a glare at her phone when it vibrated again. The noise was enough to wake up Gabriel, who abruptly sat up in a flurry of limps and blonde hair, making garbled noises that only vaguely resembled the English language. 

“Find Cas yet?” he asked after a moment, the words slurred with the remnants of sleep. His hair was sticking up in absolutely absurd directions and Dean was pretty sure that it was the first time he'd ever seen any physical resemblance between Castiel and his brother. 

“Still AWOL,” Dean said, trying to wriggle the kink out of his neck. “The press are begging for something though.” Before he could say anymore, Dean's phone started vibrating against the deck. He peered down at the number, almost completely positive that he was going to see Bobby or Ellen's name. Instead, he was met with Castiel's and he snatched his phone up so quickly that he nearly dropped it on the ground in his haste. 

“Cas, where the hell have you been?” he asked, trying his best not to holler into the phone. 

“On a bender.” The voice that answered him sounded almost nothing like Castiel. It was still gravelly but now it was hoarse, like he'd swallowed a mouthful of sand or nails and despite the fact that he'd only said three words, those three words had been distinctly slurred. However, it was the content of the words that surprised Dean; he liked the guy, that was really fucking clear, but if he'd been drinking for over twelve fucking hours without letting anyone know where he was, that was an unbelievably selfish decision. 

“Did you just say 'on a bender?” he asked, just to be sure. At those words, Anna flew off the bed and came to stand beside him, leaning up on her tiptoes so that she could press her ear to the phone. 

“Yes. My phone died, I had to borrow a cord from a bartender in order to charge it.” Before Dean could open his mouth to respond, Anna snatched his phone with surprising speed, running a hand through her hair. 

“Castiel Milton, what the hell do you think you're doing?” she growled, her shoulders stock straight. “Do you know how long you were gone? Do you know how many phone calls I've gotten asking what the hell is going on? You're acting like a goddamn child!” 

“Anna, give me the phone,” Gabriel muttered, obviously still half asleep. “I'll deal with him.” He reached up to grab the phone from her hands but her fingers came down quick as a whip, smacking the back of his hand. 

“Look, Cas, just tell us where you are and we'll come get you, we'll sort this out. Please, I don't want you to get hurt.” She fell silent again before turning back to Dean and passing him the phone. “He wants to talk to you.” 

“Cas, where are you?” 

“I have no idea,” he said, the words slightly less slurred but no less hoarse. “It's a bar... I think it's called Inferno. That's what the napkin says.” Dean knew the name, but had never been to the place itself; it catered mostly to young people whose idea of rebellion was carving pentagrams into their bed posts. It had a bit of a reputation for allowing underage drinking and overall, Dean had absolutely no idea how Castiel had found himself there. 

“Did you want me to come get you?” he asked, his fingers already grabbing his keys off of the desk. There was a rustle at the other end of the line and then Dean could hear the faint thrums of heavy metal somewhere in the background. 

“I don't know. The alcohol seems to be making it hard to think. My nose is bleeding though. That might be-” The call abruptly went dead but when Dean looked down, his battery still had a good couple of minutes remaining. That meant that Castiel was in a weird, pseudo-Satantic bar with no cellphone, probably not much of a remaining liver and a bleeding nose for some goddamn reason. The absurdity of the situation almost made Dean want to laugh; it sounded like something out of a movie in itself. Then again, they always said that the truth was stranger than fiction and this was absolutely no exception. 

“I know where he is,” he said, leading Anna to sigh with relief. “You two stay here, I'll go get him, we'll figure out what the fuck we're going to do together.” 

“I'm going to start working on a soundbite,” Anna said, nodding her assent before reaching for her phone. Gabriel merely groaned before collapsing back onto the bed, apparently still coming down from his sugar high. 

They had quite the team assembled, that was for sure.

***

Despite the relatively early hour of the afternoon (hell, most of the inhabitants of the town didn't even get out of bed until after four, let alone three), Inferno was open, its exterior speakers blaring absolutely terrible nu-metal. Just parking along the street in front of it made Dean shudder and the thought of going inside almost made him physically sick. Maybe he should have brought Gabriel; he was sure that the oldest Milton probably had more experience with these kinds of sleazy spaces than he did. But, sucking up his pride, he shut the Impala off and stepped outside, aware that he'd have to blare AC/DC for days in order to scrub himself of the experience.

Thankfully, that experience never came. As he turned the corner to access the doors of the bar, he took notice of a man sitting on the concrete divider of a parking space in the lot across the road. He recognized the man's trench coat all too well and, once he was sure that he wasn't going to die a bloody death in the middle of the asphalt, he crossed over. Castiel's back was to him and his head was bowed down towards his lap. His shoulders were sagging and Dean didn't think that he'd ever seen anyone look so defeated. As he got closer, he could see small drops of blood dotting the ground, which lead him to believe that Castiel's nosebleed was still in progress. 

“Cas?” he asked slowly, stepping over the divider so that he could sit down on it as well. Castiel turned his head to acknowledge Dean's presence and oh boy, the sight was _not_ a pretty picture. Apparently a nosebleed had been just one of the experiences he'd gone through on his bender. There was blood crusted around his nostrils and his upper lip, with a few drops matted into the dark stubble on his cheeks but he also had a hell of a shiner and what looked like a scratch near his temple. The collar of his trench coat was also dotted with blood but it was too brown and dry to be as recent as the blood on his face. His knuckles were a sight to behold; the skin on both his hands was split and when Dean picked up one to get a better look at the wounds, he could still see white dots of plasterboard stuck in the lacerations. 

“Jesus Christ Cas, we gotta get you to a hospital,” he said, running his thumb over one of his split knuckles. Castiel hissed but didn't wince away from the touch. “These have to be sterilized, might need stitches, actually.” 

“I am _not_ going to a hospital,” he growled, the first words he'd said since Dean had sat down. “I'll be fine. I've endured worse wounds.” 

“Well, you're coming back with me at the very least,” he said, threading his arm underneath Castiel's elbow and using all of his strength to yank him to his feet. As soon as he was vertical, Castiel slumped against him and the sudden addition of his dead weight on Dean's arm almost led to him dropping him back to the pavement. He obviously hadn't slept in over twelve hours and it looked like it was all catching up with him. 

“Fuckers,” he muttered and Dean was caught between chuckling due to the obscene word coming from Castiel's mouth or wincing for the same reason. In the end, he decided on neither; he simply slung Castiel's arm over his shoulder and started half-pulling, half-guiding him across the road. 

“Yep, they're all fuckers,” he agreed, really wishing that Castiel would at least lift his damn feet off the ground. 

“They've ruined everything.” His words were starting to slur again, like he was on the verge of unconsciousness. Getting him buckled into the passenger seat would have been too much of a damn hassle so, opening the back door, he ungracefully tossed Castiel inside, making sure that his feet were inside the door before he shut it again. He could hear Cas mumbling something under his breath through the window but he ignored it for the time being, calling Anna from his phone. 

“I found your brother,” he said, peeking through the open driver's side window. Castiel didn't look like he was going to puke anytime soon, thank God; much as Dean liked the guy, he'd hardly been able to forgive Sammy when he'd thrown up in the back seat once and he was family. 

“Is he okay?” 

“Well, blood doesn't bother you, right?”


	19. blessing you with every kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So as it turns out, I'm going to be staying at my grandma's tomorrow night, which means no internet, and I didn't want to make you all wait until Saturday for a new chapter, so here we are. I hope you enjoy. xo.
> 
> Title comes from the song [Stitches](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UB7CbOhH0Wo) by Orgy.

Gabriel met Dean in the parking lot of Anna's hotel, which was definitely a godsend; if possible, Castiel had gotten even more unresponsive and although the height difference between Dean and Cas' brother made carrying him a little awkward, being able to split the load with Gabriel made it considerably easier on his muscles. 

“I don't even think _I've_ ever been this bad,” Gabriel said as they tugged Castiel through the lobby. Dean knew that the lady behind the front desk was looking at them funny but he could only hope that she'd seen worse in her time and that she wasn't a source for a gossip rag.

“Did Anna get the stuff we need?” Dean asked, wriggling his arm out from underneath Castiel's so that he could press the elevator button. 

“Had most of it already. We don't have any disinfectant but there _is_ a mini-bar...” He trailed off and when Dean glanced over at him, his smile was far too large, considering what he was proposing. Nonetheless, Dean couldn't fault him. It was a good idea, even if the premise was a little ludicrous. But hey, it had been alcohol (and rage) that had put Castiel in his present state; it only seemed fitting that it would be alcohol that would set him back on the right path. 

“You know, if you had ideas that great all the time, you could be a real evil prick,” Dean chuckled, maneuvering his way into the elevator. 

“Dean-O, you have no idea what goes through this head of mine.” 

“And I really don't want to know.” 

***

Castiel was stirring a little bit by the time they got him back to Anna's room but he was still unconscious for all intents and purposes. When she got a good glimpse at her older brother's wounds, her skin blanched but true to her word, she merely swallowed and directed them to the bathtub. She had a miniature sewing kit sitting on the bathroom counter and on a word from Gabriel, she grabbed a small bottle of whiskey from the mini-bar. It took the three of them to heave Castiel into the dry bathtub and then came the fun part. Dean grabbed one of Castiel's hands so that it was leaning on the edge of the tub, fingers splayed before he twisted the cap of the whiskey bottle off and took a swig, letting it burn down his throat. He offered the bottle to both of Castiel's siblings and after they had each taken a sip, Dean took the bottle back back and, with a mutter of _bottom's up_ , he turned it upside down so that half of the remaining liquid spilled around and into the wounds on his knuckles.

That did the trick. Hollering loud enough to nearly deafen him, Castiel jolted bolt upright, jerking his hand away like he'd been stabbed. 

“Well, at least he's awake now,” Gabriel commented from where he was sitting on the floor. “Welcome back Cassie.” 

“What did you do to my hand?” he asked, panting loudly as he shook his hand, sending droplets of whiskey cascading across the room. One of them hit Dean just above his upper lip and he quickly licked it off before he showed Castiel the bottle that had caused him so much pain. 

“Alcohol is a hell of a drug,” he said and while Castiel was squinting at the bottle, Dean lunged forward and splashed the remainder of the liquid over his other hand. Although Castiel flinched away when he realized what was going on, most of it still hit its target and he yelled _fuck_ at the top of his lungs, slamming his foot into the end of the bathtub. 

“My lord, Anna, did you know that Cassie could swear?” Gabriel asked. He was grinning like a total idiot and Dean was pretty sure no one was supposed to ever have that much enjoyment over seeing someone in so much pain. 

“Gabriel, quit it,” she snapped, swinging her foot at him from where she was sitting on the edge of the counter. “Don't you have something else to do?” 

“Actually, now that you mention it,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket and glancing at it, “my new girl shoots her first flick today! I should go wish her luck.” 

“You go do that,” Dean muttered. The glare Castiel was leveling at him was intimidating enough to make a demon stop in its tracks but Dean just stared back at him. “Bring some peroxide back with you.” 

“Sure you don't want to come with me?” Gabriel asked, poking Dean in the shoulder. “You'll get a chance to meet Alexa Marie before she becomes the next big thing.” 

“Gabriel, fuck off," Castiel and Dean said in sync and he immediately left the room, muttering under his breath. Castiel's breathing was returning to normal slowly but he was even more of a mess. His clothes were soaked in whiskey and there was pus oozing from his inflamed knuckles. The entire bathroom just smelt like a wino's hovel or a really scuzzy bar and Dean felt really sorry for the cleaning staff that were going to have to deal with it. 

“Cas, do you have your room key with you?” Anna asked. Castiel reached into the pocket of his trousers and tossed his wallet at her. “I'm going to go get you some new clothes. When I get back, we can figure out what the hell we're going to do about this whole thing, alright?” Castiel merely nodded and once she left, Dean grabbed one of the face cloths hanging beside the sink and soaked it in warm water. 

“What are you going to do to me now?” Castiel muttered, shrugging out of his trench coat and slinging it onto the floor. Dean was pretty sure that the thing was completely ruined, which was actually a shame; in the past few weeks, the coat had actually started to grow on him. 

“I'm going to get that blood off your face,” he shot back. “Got a problem with that?” Castiel's face stayed set in a hard line for a few seconds before it crumbled and he sighed with his entire body, slumping down in the bathtub so that his face was at the same level as the edge. 

“Dean, I'm sorry,” he said, reaching up and absently scratching at the dried blood above his lip. “I've been acting like a child.” 

“Maybe a bit,” Dean murmured, leaning forward on his knees and scraping some of the blood away from Castiel's nose. “It was a pretty shitty situation though.” 

“Perhaps, but that doesn't excuse how I reacted to it,” he replied, words slightly garbled as the cloth draped over his mouth. “I should have come to you or Anna, rather than drinking.”

“Speaking of drinking, do you remember where the hell all this blood came from?” Dean asked, standing up to drizzle more hot water and soap over the cloth before gently brushing it over the bruised skin around Castiel's eye. 

“I vaguely recall getting into a fight with somebody. I just can't remember why.” 

“I'm sure the paparazzi have got a hold of the damn story by now.” Most of the blood was gone and although the scratch high up on Castiel's cheek looked mostly harmless, Dean ran his index finger along the inside of the whiskey bottle and wiped it along the cut, just in case. 

“I doubt it,” Castiel said, hissing between his teeth as the alcohol touched the shallow wound. “Most of the places I was at last night didn't seem like the environments for those kinds of people.” Before Dean could move his hand away, Castiel's fingers caught his wrist and he pressed a hard kiss to the underside of his arm. 

“Thank you,” he murmured against his skin and Dean could feel his lips brushing against his pulse. “You've been far too good to me, Dean. I don't-”

“Cas, don't you dare pull the 'I don't deserve you' card,” he interrupted, throwing the blood stained cloth into the garbage, “because I'm just going to pull it back and then we're going to be here all night.” 

“Being here all night with you doesn't sound like a bad thing,” he smirked and Dean just rolled his eyes with fondness. 

“I think you've been around Gabriel too long,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to Castiel's whiskey soaked fingertips before he reached for the sewing kit. “Your lines are starting to sound like his.” 

“I consider that to be an insult.” 

“Don't worry, I still like you better than him,” Dean assured him, grinning at him as he started threading the needle. It had been awhile since he'd stitched anyone up but since Castiel was too goddamn stubborn to go to the hospital, he was really glad that he had retained the skill. Thankfully, now that the wounds had been cleaned out (albeit in a rather primitive fashion), he could see that only two or three of the cuts needed a stitch or two, which wouldn't take very long. 

“You ready?” he asked once he'd finished threading the needle, poking himself quickly with it to make sure that it was sharp. He had barely moved it away from his skin before Castiel was sitting up on his knees and kissing him hard, both of his hands threading into Dean's hair. Dropping the needle onto the floor so that he didn't accidentally get stabbed with it, Dean returned the favor, wincing as his hips banged against the edge of the bathtub in his eagerness to respond. His hands flailed out and settled on the collar of Castiel's button-up, which was just as unsalvagable as his trench coat. As a result, when he ripped a seam, he didn't feel guilty in the slightest. Castiel's nails dug into his scalp and in response, Dean threaded his tongue between Castiel's lips, tangling with his own. He could still taste blood in his mouth with just a hint of the whiskey that had been thrown around the room and it shouldn't have tasted nearly as good as it did. Castiel pulled back far enough to nip at his bottom lip and Dean mirrored the action before he pulled away to breath, panting like he'd just run five miles. 

“Now I'm ready,” Castiel said, settling back into the bathtub and setting his hand on the edge of the tub. For a moment, Dean could only blink before he retrieved the needle from the tiled floor and quickly ran it under the tap to wash off the dust and debris that had settled on it. 

“You're going to kill me,” he muttered, making sure his knots were still secure. Castiel opened his mouth like he was about to say something else but then Dean was pushing the needle through the thin skin of his knuckle and Castiel was proving that he could yell fuck even when he wasn't angry. 

By the time Anna returned, Dean had stitched up the cuts that needed it and gotten most of the plasterboard out of the wounds that were too shallow to need sutures. After the initial stitch, Castiel had stopped swearing but he hissed more than once, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Dean had no idea how no one had logged a noise complaint against them or called the cops but he was sure weirder things had happened in the hotel. 

“How are things coming in here?” Anna asked, one of Castiel's suit bags draped over her arms. 

“Well, the hard part is done,” Dean said, tossing the needle into the garbage. “Whenever Gabriel comes back, we'll just have to put some peroxide on everything, just to be sure.” 

“Good. We're going to have to draft a press release, Cas,” she said, hanging the bag over the top of the open bathroom door. “The studio has already put out theirs, we need to tell the truth, as best as we can.” 

“Fine. I need a shower first.” 

“If you guys are going to be doing that, I'll leave you alone,” Dean said, rinsing off his hands. Even with the assistance of the fruity soap that came with the room, he knew that the smell of whiskey was going to linger on his skin for hours. “I should probably call Bobby, let him know what's happened, find out if I still have a job.” 

“I'll keep you in the loop,” Anna said, smiling at him before she left the bathroom. Castiel was already working on the buttons of his shirt and Dean had to try very hard not to stare at the skin he was revealing with each one he unfastened. 

“Good luck with the press shit,” he said, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. 

“I'm sure Anna will come up with something that doesn't stray too far from the truth.” He pulled his shirt out of his pants so that he could finish unbuttoning it and this time, Dean didn't bother trying not to stare. 

“Will you be home for the rest of the night?” he asked quietly, leaving his shirt on but open. 

“Yeah, yeah I will be,” Dean stuttered, quickly nodding. 

“May I come by when things have sorted themselves out?” 

“Dude, you don't have to ask that,” Dean chuckled, leaning over and quickly kissing Castiel, letting his fingers tangle with the hair on the back of his head for a brief moment before he pulled away. “You say the word and I'll be home.” 

“In that case, I will see you later tonight.”

“I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is kind of short as well, but trust me when I say that next chapter makes up for it... in more ways than one. xo.


	20. baby tonight just be (the death of me).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so as I'm sure you all noticed, this chapter is really, really long. that would be because it contains something I'm sure many of you have been waiting for! :D However, I know that some of you would prefer to skip over sex so if that is what you'd like to do, just hit crtl + f and search for the words "how're you feeling?" and you'll skip over all the smut. (: I've also updated the tags for the story so you can kind of know what to expect as well. Anyways, I hope you lovely readers enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. <3
> 
> Title comes from [Collar Full](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZAIEAG6Vgk) by Panic! At the Disco.

Dean quickly left the hotel room before his more primal instincts got the best of him and he called Bobby on the way home, simultaneously cursing the shitty traffic and informing him that everything was back under control. When he got back to his apartment, he quickly flipped open his laptop again. Hunting down the statement that the studio had released was far from difficult and it was one giant crock of lies. 

_“Unfortunately, we could not come to an agreement with Mr. Milton regarding how certain aspects of his novel should be translated onto the screen. As a result, we have come to an amicable settlement and Mr. Milton has stepped away from the production. We thank him for his efforts and hope that he will approve of the final product.”_

The whole thing was so ridiculous that it almost made Dean laugh. It was all so _fake_ , so goddamn condescending, especially that last goddamn line. There was no way in hell that Castiel was going to approve of the final product, Dean knew that. Fuck, if any of his fans had a shred of respect for the book, they wouldn't approve of it either. He could just imagine Jess yelling at the screen and he made a mental note to text her later, to tell her not to bother supporting the movie. Even as he thought about texting her, his phone buzzed and he opened it to see that he had a text from Anna. 

**Just sent off the press release. It should hit the net in a few minutes.**

_Jesus that was quick_ he typed back. He'd only left the hotel half an hour before and yet they'd already gotten their counter-statement up? Anna was good. Dean hoped that Castiel realized just how good because some publicists would have taken days to get their act together in order to post a statement. Half an hour was almost fucking unheard of. 

**Been thinking about it all damn day just had to get the words out. I'll get Cas over there soon, alright?**

_Sounds good._ He spent the next while trying to keep himself distracted in between bouts of hitting refresh on the movie gossip site he had open. He cleaned as much as he could, threw a pizza in the oven and even thought about rearranging his movie collection, all in an effort to both distract him from sitting in front of his laptop and to distract him from the weird, slightly fuzzy feeling that had firmly settled into his stomach. He'd had Cas in his apartment before; fuck, he'd had Cas _shirtless_ on his couch before. He'd even slept in the same bed as the guy, but this was different. This was something else, something more, something he'd never had. Even if they were still in the early stages, Dean knew that this was more than sex. He definitely wanted sex, no doubt about it, but he also wanted kisses and road trips and waking up to stubble pressed between his shoulder blades. He wanted to come home to find Castiel with disheveled hair, bare chested and typing up his latest manuscript. He wouldn't be too upset if they could skip right over his occasional breakdown or act of physical destruction but Dean had a feeling that those would go away now that Cas was formally out of the production. 

Fuck, he just _wanted_ , wanted all of it. He was so screwed. 

This time, when he refreshed the website, Anna's press release was breaking news at the top of the page. When he opened it, he was amazed at how long the damn thing was; it definitely dwarfed the official release from the studio. Whether it was her or Cas that had typed it up, their fingers must have been flying a mile a minute. 

_When I first read the manuscript of what would eventually become Heavenly Warfare, I was absolutely astounded, both by the quality of it and by my brother's reasons for writing it. He didn't do it for money or for fame, he did it because he wanted to tell a story. He didn't care if I was the only one who read that story. However, I was more selfish. I thought that the world needed to read his story so I sent off his manuscript. While we are both thankful for the compliments and wonderful reviews the book has received, we both regret the decision to allow the novel to be adapted into a film. At the time, it seemed like a no-brainer, a way to let the story reach more people. And while that may still happen, I doubt it._

_I regret the role I had in that decision because for weeks, I had to watch my brother be miserable as something he'd put his heart and soul into was cannibalized and destroyed, in the interests of profit over art. My brother feels the same way. While Castiel has willfully given up creative control over the script and will no longer interfere or be involved with the project, he will not be accepting any money for giving up those rights. Instead, what he and I would like to do is urge fans of the book to skip the film when it is completed. What you will be seeing on that screen is not the story that my brother wrote; it will be a bastardized version with only the barest connection to the novel._

_Perhaps we were naïve and stupid going in but we would like to thank the people we dealt with for giving us much needed insight into how the film industry works. It is not an experience we will be repeating in the future; my brother will be sticking to novels alone and I cannot blame him in the least._

_Anna Milton_

It was, without a doubt, the most eloquent press release Dean had ever read and he couldn't help but wonder if Anna had ever considered writing a book of her own. More than anything, it obviously wasn't fake. Despite the short window of time between when they'd started writing it and when it'd been posted, it was completely genuine and heartfelt. Even with the somewhat harsh (yet truthful) words, there was not an ounce of malice in it, not a sneer to be found. The comments had already begun to roll in underneath it and as tempting as it was to scroll through them, Dean was smart enough to realize that was a bad idea just waiting to happen. There would inevitably be a few trolls roaming around and Dean wasn't really in the mood for unnecessary anger. His phone buzzed again and this time, it was from Jess and judging by the various curse words that dotted her long text, she was pissed at him for not filling her in on the whole story at an earlier point. He quickly told her that he'd fill her in as soon as he could and he'd barely sent that text off before another one was coming through, this time from Gabriel. 

**Did ya see the press release? Anna doesn't take shit from nobody.** Dean had a feeling that was Gabriel's way of stealthily threatening to beat him up so he ignored the text. He hadn't even set the damn thing down again before it was ringing but when he saw that it was from the front door, that fuzzy feeling intensified. He buzzed Anna and Cas in and paced the entire time it took them to reach his apartment; his legs were too jittery to sit down. He felt like a goddamn teenager waiting for their date to pick them up and it was absolutely ridiculous. Almost immediately after the first knock fell on the door, Dean swung it open. Cas looked a hell of a lot better now that he'd changed. He'd left the jacket and tie behind and admittedly, Dean kind of missed the latter; ties were useful for all sorts of things. 

Whoa, bad thoughts. He had to slow down a bit if he wanted the evening to feature any activities that didn't involve sex. 

“He's all yours,” Anna said from behind Cas, glaring down at her phone as it chimed in her hand. “Gabriel stopped by with some peroxide so I think the knuckle thing is going to turn out okay.”

“They do feel slightly better.” Castiel looked down as his knuckles briefly and although they were still an uncomfortable shade of red, the vividness of the shade had lessened some. 

“Did you want a drink or something?” Dean asked Anna, holding the door open further so that he wasn't blocking it. She shook her head and held up her phone, smiling apologetically.

“Wish I could, but this stupid thing is going off the hook. It's going to be a long night.” Before Dean could say a word, she leaned in and kissed his cheek quickly. 

“Thank you,” she said, flashing another smile in his direction before she leaned in to hug Cas, murmuring something in his ear that Dean couldn't quite make out. And then she was gone and Dean was locking the door behind her and Castiel was sitting on the living room couch, gently prodding at his makeshift stitches. Dean had a snappy retort lined up but then he realized he could smell burning pizza and he took off towards the kitchen, yanking the oven door open and coughing as a plume of gray smoke came wafting out. 

Well, dinner was officially fucked. He opened the kitchen window, switched the oven off and left it half open so that it could air out a little bit. When he walked back into the living room, Castiel was staring at him expectantly, the hint of a smirk present at the corner of his mouth. 

“I don't mean to alarm you, but I think you burned your food.” 

“Smartass,” Dean muttered and that smirk went from half-assed to full mast. He flopped down on the couch, his arms slung across the back, all too aware that Castiel's eyes were on him, only him. 

“I wasn't hungry anyways,” he said quietly, idly scratching at one of his inflamed knuckles. Dean reflexively grabbed at his hand, because he was pretty sure neither of them wanted to have another emergency stitch-up but once he had Castiel's hand, he didn't really want to let go. It was just a guess but he was pretty sure that Cas was feeling the same way, just judging from how he adjusted his fingers so that they were neatly slotted between Dean's. 

“Oh,” he answered, kicking himself for sounding so stupid. His eyes drifted down to their connected hands and he gently ran his thumb over one of the sutures. Despite the light pressure, Cas hissed and on a whim, Dean brought the hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to each of the wounds, ignoring the slight taste of peroxide and alcohol that still lingered there. He could hear the hitch in Castiel's breathing and when he looked back up, he could have sworn that his eyes had darkened, just slightly. 

“Dean, I want to kiss you,” he murmured, his voice silky as sin and oh boy, Dean knew that the press would have had a goddamn field day if they could hear one of their favorite reclusive authors talking like that.

“Then get over here and kiss me.” Castiel was nothing if not quick on the uptake; Dean had hardly gotten the last word out of his mouth before Cas literally pounced upon him, knocking him backwards on the couch, claiming his mouth with something akin to desperation. Dean managed to get his legs situated so that Cas was bracketed between them and then he put all of his attention onto kissing back, locking his hands into Castiel's hair. The contact between them was making his shirt ride up his stomach and Dean kind of wanted to rip it off but they'd hardly just begun. He was dragging this out long as he could, was going to make it more memorable than just a quick fuck. Castiel got his hand underneath his head and scraped his nails down the back of his neck and sweet Jesus, Dean really hoped that the neighbors weren't listening because the noise that came out of his mouth was frankly embarrassing. His other hand had seemingly disappeared and then it was stroking over where Dean's shirt was ridden up, the gentleness of the action a complete contrast to how hard he was kissing. It was only a matter of time before one of his fingers brushed over the sharp V of Dean's hipbone and he threw his head back against the arm of the couch, trying his hardest to regain some semblance of calm, which was pretty goddamn difficult when Castiel was finding all his sensitive spots like he'd been gifted a map saying _touch Dean here_. 

“Does that feel good?” Castiel's lips were against his ear and as he dragged them down Dean's neck further, he put more pressure behind his fingertips. 

“No, I'm moaning because I hate it,” Dean groaned and fuck, of course _now_ would be the time that Castiel didn't understand sarcasm. He leaned back and opened his mouth, presumably to apologize but Dean used the grip he still had in Cas' hair to pull him back down, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth and nipping it. 

“I was kidding. It feels really good, Cas. Betcha it'd feel even better on my bed.” 

“I'd like to test out that bet.” Castiel was off him in a flash, easily tugging Dean upwards. They made it as far as the hallway before Dean couldn't handle it anymore. Sure, his bedroom was within sight but the wall was closer and he had a great idea that he really couldn't wait for. He pinned Cas up against the wall and bent his head until he could gently bite at the dip underneath his ear. As he moved further down, he could feel Castiel's stubble grating against his tongue and that definitely shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did. He could feel Cas' moans before he heard them, vibrating up his throat as Dean worshiped every inch of it. Castiel's hands were on his shoulders, pressing against his back, pulling the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. He wanted so desperately to leave a mark on his pretty throat but he knew that was just a dumb fucking idea so he settled on biting down where his shoulder met his neck, leaving a red spot that would vanish in only a few minutes. Castiel's hands moved from his back and wriggled between them, rapidly yanking open his shirt. On one hand, Dean was kind of disappointed because he'd wanted to be the one to do that but on the other hand, now he had complete access to Castiel's torso and in the end, that kind of won out and it definitely made the implementation of his plan much easier. He leaned back up so that he could kiss Cas again, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders to the floor. When he was breathless, he pulled away and dropped down to his knees, resting his hands on Castiel's thighs. It was completely obvious that he was hard and Dean couldn't help but grin, feeling remarkably proud of himself. 

“I'm going to come back here later,” he murmured, just barely brushing his thumb over the outline of Cas' cock. “But I've got something different in mind for now.” He straightened up so that his mouth was in line with the outline of Castiel's hips and he slowly flicked his tongue out, grazing it against the soft skin. The noise Cas made was unlike anything Dean had ever heard; he was pretty sure that it should have been illegal for someone with such a deep voice to _whimper_. He pressed his hands to the top of Cas' thighs to keep him in place and repeated the action harder, dragging his teeth slightly over the bone that was pressing against his skin. This time, he heard a quiet thud as Cas threw his head back into the wall and one of his banged-up hands tangled into Dean's hair again, neither pulling or pushing, just there, like he was holding on for dear life.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, deliberately repeating Cas' words from earlier. When he glanced up, Cas was nodding, his eyes closed, bottom lip pulled into his mouth. He shifted slightly so that he could pay attention to his other hipbone with his mouth, using his thumb to trace over the one he had just left. Castiel's hand was moving on the back of his head now, sliding up and down and it kind of felt like Cas was petting him but hey, weirder things had happened and if Dean was being honest, it actually felt pretty good. Once he'd given the sharp V a good work over, Dean made one last stop underneath Castiel's navel, drawing the soft skin between his teeth and sucking. 

“Fuck,” Cas groaned, one of his hands leaving Dean's hair to slam into the wall and Dean officially had a new priority in his life: make Cas curse as much as possible, particularly in that gravelly tone his voice had slid into. Once Dean had left a rather pretty mark (if he said so himself), he stood back up, feeling rather smug in his accomplishment. 

“Want to go to the bed now?” he asked. Castiel growled and pushed off the wall, grabbing Dean's forearm and tugging him towards the bedroom. Dean knew he was grinning like an absolute fool but he just couldn't help himself. No matter; he slid on a sock he hadn't picked up and, thankfully, fell onto the bed, lying lengthwise across it. He just barely managed to get himself in the proper position, with his head on the pillows, before Castiel was on top of him again, pressing his face into his neck, his breath ghosting over Dean's jaw. 

“Why are you still wearing a shirt?” The words were hot puffs against his skin, making his nerves fire off like Christmas lights.

“Cause you haven't taken it off of me yet,” he said and good lord, was that actually what his voice sounded like? They hadn't even lost all their clothes yet and his voice was already raspy, like he'd had at least two orgasms. He could feel Cas smirk against his jaw before he leaned back far enough to tear Dean's shirt off. And then things really ramped up because Cas' hands were all over him, dragging down his ribs and across his stomach, leaving tiny bruises against his hips and scratches underneath his navel. He just barely had the mental capacity to make a note about asking Gabriel about Castiel's prior boyfriend because, not that he was a creep or anything, but either Cas was just really fucking amazing or really experienced.

Sure, he would have preferred if the answer was the former but considering his own list of experiences, he would be a hypocrite for being angry if it was the latter. 

Cas kissed him until he couldn't breathe and even when he pulled away, he was murmuring words against Dean's skin, whispering them into his arms and the hollow of his throat. They were beautiful words too, things that made Dean squirm. When he paid further attention to the movement of Castiel's fingers, he realized that he was spelling out words as well, tracing them in invisible ink against his skin and he really didn't know quite how to handle that. It had been obvious from the words in Anna's press release (fuck, it'd been obvious before that) that Castiel's writing was his life, was his masterpiece and the fact he was viewing Dean like that made him blush, just the slightest. It also made him really fucking hard and the words that Castiel was whispering really weren't helping. 

“You are perfect.” Those ones were spoken right into Dean's ear, while the next ones hit his pulse point. “Perfect, Dean.” Another kiss to his jaw. “The most beautiful person I've ever seen.” 

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Dean murmured and oh how far they had come from the last time he'd said those words. Castiel's fingertips dipped below the waistband of his jeans and then he was looming over him, his face set in complete solemnity and goddamn it, he really needed to lay the sarcasm aside, just for a few moments. 

“No. Just you.” Castiel's voice was rough and completely serious and he was staring down at Dean in a way he'd never had anyone look at him. None of the guys or girls that had passed through his bed or his life had looked at him like they were trying to make out the fabric of his soul and yeah, maybe he was just getting sappy but he couldn't deny what he was seeing. He didn't really know what to say so instead, he brought Castiel back down, kissing him like his life depended on, trying to convey all the emotions he couldn't quite put into words. Cas pulled away far too quickly and when he tried to chase after his mouth, he planted his hands on Dean's shoulders, effectively pinning him to the bed. 

“Dean.” Slowly, Castiel ground his hips down and the friction was so unexpected and so amazing that Dean couldn't bite back his groan. 

“Yeah Cas?” 

“I...” His eloquence had apparently vanished, replaced by a tinge of pink on his cheekbones. He leaned down until his forehead was resting against Dean's and his eyes slipped closed. The tip of his tongue flicked out over his lips and then he opened his eyes again, staring directly into Dean's. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he said slowly, that pink tinge spreading just slightly and Dean could definitely get behind that idea. It wasn't exactly where he'd been expecting things to go and although he would have been more than happy to bottom, this was an option he wasn't going to pass up. 

“Okay. If you're sure,” he said, drawing his thumb down Castiel's cheekbone to rest at the corner of his mouth. Cas turned his head slightly so that he could suck the digit between his lips, scraping his teeth just the slightest and much as Dean had enjoyed drawing things out, if Cas kept doing simple, hot as fuck stuff like that, he was going to come in his pants like he was sixteen again. He used his legs to flip their positions and he immediately started working on Castiel's belt, drawing it from the loops and flinging it out into the hallway with a clink. Cas had already succeeded in popping the buckle of Dean's belt open so Dean leaned back just far enough to wriggle it out of his jeans before tossing it away as well. Without the belt, undoing the button and zipper on Castiel's trousers seemed like the most natural step and as he started tugging them down Castiel's legs, he realized he was babbling, just whispering words against Castiel's mouth, spouting off between kisses. He'd never been very good at keeping his mouth shut in bed and since he'd never had someone as gorgeous as Castiel underneath him, it made sense that he couldn't shut up. 

“Wanna make you feel good, so good Cas,” he muttered, mouthing at Castiel's throat as he yanked his trousers down with his hands. “Wanna hear all the pretty noises you can make, that sound good?” 

“ _Dean_.” Now that was a good way to start off. Between the two of them, they managed to get Castiel's pants off and this time, when he arched his hips up, Dean could feel the head of Cas' cock brushing against his stomach. Suddenly, still having jeans on seemed like the worst idea in the world so Dean slid off the bed long enough to get the offending denim off of his legs. Now that they were down to the thinnest layers of cloth, the contact between them was positively electrifying. Castiel's hands skated down his back, pressed into his shoulder blades, his mouth bruising against his neck. Dean was pretty sure that, despite his caution when it had come to Castiel's neck, he was going to have a few hickies of his own bruising his throat come tomorrow but he'd deal with it. He was sure that Jo would let him borrow some foundation if he had to.

“Now how you wanna do this?” Dean asked, getting interrupted midway through when Cas pushed his hips upward again, making both of them moan. “How d'you want me to fuck you, darlin'?” The word slipped out entirely by accident but Castiel didn't seem to mind; he actually bucked his hips up again, his ankles pressing into the back of Dean's calves like he was trying to bring them even closer together.

“Want to be on top of you,” Cas managed to spit out, his hands leaving scratches on Dean's back, scratches that he knew weren't going to go away until morning. Once again, things had taken a turn for the unexpected but Dean wasn't going to complain one bit. Actually, he was pretty sure that Castiel had somehow found a way to peek at his fantasies, because he may have had a dream or two that had ended with them in that exact position. 

“I like the way you think,” he chuckled against Cas' swollen bottom lip, giving it another nip for good measure before he (very reluctantly) rolled off of Castiel's body, fumbling for his nightstand. When he managed to get the drawer open, he was very confused by what he initially felt; rather than his fingers catching the smooth surface of a bottle of lube or the crinkly wrapper of a condom, they were brushing over the papery jacket of a hardcover book. Once he'd gotten over the initial confusion, he had to try very hard to hold back his laughter; hiding Castiel's book all those weeks ago had just been an act of impulse but he was starting to wonder if some deep corner of his mind had known about him wanting to sleep with Cas for quite some time. He shoved the book further into the back so that he could find the tube of slick that was underneath it. He grabbed a condom as well and dropped both onto the top of the nightstand before he turned back to Castiel who was-

Oh. He was naked. His white boxers had vanished over the edge of the bed and he was leaning back against the pillows naked as the day he was born, his thick cock curving towards his stomach. There was a droplet of pre-cum glistening on the head and when Dean got the urge to lick it, he didn't bother trying to hold back. The noise Cas made when his tongue scooped the droplet up was positively gorgeous. One of his hands fisted into the sheets while the other grabbed for Dean's hair and he hadn't really been planning on staying too long but then again, sucking Castiel's cock actually seemed like an excellent idea. He grabbed the lube and while he kissed his way up the shaft of Castiel's dick, he coated his index finger in lube, making sure that it was literally dripping before he trailed it down Castiel's pale thigh to his entrance. 

“Can you lift your legs up a little bit for me?” He expected Cas to bring his knees up towards his stomach but instead, he was knocked off guard when his legs went over Dean's shoulders, his heels pressing into Dean's back. It was unexpected but it certainly did the job. He turned his head so that he could suck a bruise into the white skin of his inner thigh and at the same time, he pressed his finger into Cas, drawing out a long moan from the author, who had thrown his head back against Dean's pillows. 

“How are you doin' up there?” Dean asked, pulling away from the bruise he had succeeded in leaving and slowly dragging his tongue up Castiel's cock. He crooked his finger a little bit, trying his best to take his time. 

“Good.” Dean was pretty sure that Castiel's voice had cracked and that thought made him moan as well, the quiet noise muffled as he mouthed at the head of Castiel's cock. Abruptly, Cas tilted his hips so that they were pressing back against Dean's hand and that was a pretty clear sign if Dean had ever seen one. He was a little worried that Cas wasn't actually ready yet but when he slipped in a second finger, the noise he made was only pleasure. He was no longer still; his entire body was moving, shifting constantly, making the sheets bunch up underneath him. His hips were gyrating, pressing up towards Dean's mouth and then back down towards where his fingers were slowly stretching him open. Dean could feel his toes curling against his back and his fingers were clawing at the sheets. He was slowly but surely unraveling like a thread and hard as he tried, Dean couldn't see Cas as Mr. Milton anymore, as the best-selling author. All he was saw was Castiel, the absolutely gorgeous man who was giving him complete control and oh lord, he never wanted to abuse that control. He wanted to make Cas feel amazing, wanted to make him come until he was seeing stars and until his voice was hoarse. He was already well on the way to doing the latter; with each crook of his finger, Castiel's breathing hitched, resulting in a tiny keening noise that Dean wanted to record for future reference. 

“Dean, please,” he groaned after a number of minutes, “please, I need more.” Dean's mouth was too occupied for him to answer so he simply drizzled more lube over his fingers before he slowly pressed in three at once, flicking his tongue against Cas' dick as he did so. Castiel's hips only stilled for a moment, adjusting to the new intrusion, before they started moving again, fucking down against Dean's fingers like he was absolutely desperate. Regardless of his apparent need, Dean still took his time. He scissored his fingers carefully, curled them upwards, trying to coax each of Castiel's nerves to life. He didn't quite succeed in finding Cas' prostate but there was still plenty of time for that. He was pretty sure that Cas was ready and so, to give him a quick treat, he took as much of him in his mouth as he could, bobbing his head twice before he pulled back, withdrawing his fingers reluctantly. 

“You ready?” he asked, opening the condom wrapper. Cas nodded rapidly and as soon as Dean had rolled the condom onto himself, he was being knocked over onto his back. He managed to get better situated so that he was leaning back against his pile of pillows and then Castiel was in his lap, dotted with red bruises and scratch marks. Dean didn't think that he'd ever seen a more beautiful sight in his life, ever. It was only when Castiel chuckled softly that Dean realized he must have voiced the thought aloud and then Cas' hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, holding him steady while he rose up onto his knees. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” he murmured. And then he was sinking down, inch by inch and Dean was pretty sure he'd just lost the ability to think. Even through the condom, he could feel just how goddamn warm, how tight Cas was and he couldn't help but think that Castiel's previous boyfriend had been a stupid fucking idiot because there was no way Dean was giving this up voluntarily, not ever. Cas closed his eyes and groaned, the sound loud and obscene and Dean leaned up until he could pull Cas into a kiss, swallowing some of his shuddering breaths as he sunk down another inch. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean groaned, leaning his head against the sharp ridge of Castiel's collarbone. “Feels so goddamn good Cas.” 

“God, _Dean_.” Dean was pretty sure that he could have come just from Cas saying his name like that, all shudders and gasps. It was absolutely intoxicating. He ran his hands over Castiel's thighs and could feel them trembling. Soon enough however, Cas was sinking down all the way and all Dean could do was curse profusely, dropping back into his pillows, dragging his hands over whatever part of Cas he could reach. Cas laid his hands on his shoulders and, looking him directly in the eyes, lifted his hips up just the slightest before sinking back down. His nails were pressing into Dean's skin and admittedly, it did hurt a little bit so to distract himself, he took one of Castiel's wrists and kissed it, nuzzling his nose into his palm. The smile on Castiel's face seemed too sweet considering the activity they were participating in but it made Dean's stomach lurch and although he still believed that he was too damn old to be getting butterflies, it was getting harder and harder to stick to that belief. 

After a few moments, Cas seemed to have fully adjusted and settled into a steady rhythm, raising and lowering, his chest slowly developing a thin sheen of sweat. Dean adjusted his grip so that he was holding onto Castiel's hips and, bending his knees and planting his feet against his mattress, he thrust upward, meeting Cas halfway. The pace quickened after that and in the back of his mind, Dean really, really hoped that his bed wasn't about to break because the springs were making rather alarming noises which in no way compared to the wonderful vocalizations spilling out of Castiel's mouth. 

“So pretty,” Dean murmured, his fingers momentarily slipping along Castiel's side. He reached up and brushed Castiel's bangs off of his forehead, slicking them back so that he could better see his eyes. “So fucking gorgeous Cas.”

“Could you touch me?” he asked, the words punctuated by gasps. “Please Dean, need you to touch me.” 

“Yeah baby, I can do that.” Adjusting his grip on Castiel's hip, Dean took his cock in his hand and slowly dragged his thumb up the sweat slick shaft. Castiel moved his hands so that they were planted on Dean's chest and with his next downward roll of his hips, he practically wailed, throwing his head back and even though the reviewers said Castiel was a creator of masterpieces, Dean was pretty sure that Cas was just a masterpiece himself. Dean increased the speed of his strokes and Castiel was just a panting mess, his hips ceaseless, grinding down so that Dean's cock was hitting his prostate with each thrust. Dean could feel his balls drawing closer to his body, could feel tendrils of warmth spreading from below his stomach to the rest of his body but he wasn't going to finish until Cas had. That was a rule he always followed and now was no different. He leaned up and pulled Cas down into a sloppy kiss, adjusting the pace of his hand so that it matched the pace of his hips and only a few seconds later, Cas was yelling his name and biting down on his lip and spurting against his hand. Even though Dean would have completely understood if he'd collapsed immediately, he actually quickened the movement of his hips, quietly whimpering and the look of sheer fucking bliss on his face was enough to make those tendrils of warmth coil tight around Dean's stomach. His fingers bit into Castiel's hips as he came, wordlessly groaning against his pillows. Once he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Cas smiling down at him, his blue eyes practically glowing. 

“Hey,” Dean managed to say, his throat rather dry. 

Hello,” Cas said softly, sitting up onto his knees and letting Dean slide out of him. He groaned quietly before limply collapsing beside Dean, his limbs sprawling in every direction. Even though half his face was pressed against the bed, Dean could see that he was still smiling, looked fucked out and completely sated. 

“How're you feeling?” Castiel's smile only intensified and he reached out with his hand until he had entwined his fingers with Dean's. 

“The happiest I've felt in months,” he said in a matter of fact way, tiny crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes. “Years, perhaps.” 

“I'm glad to hear it.” He squeezed Castiel's fingers tightly and stared up at the ceiling, feeling his muscles slowly going back to their normal, relaxed state. He felt something drizzle onto the back of his hand and when he looked, he realized that one of Castiel's makeshift sutures had popped, resulting in a tiny trickle of blood gliding down his skin. 

“Fuck,” he sighed, wiping the blood away with his thumb. “Should probably get you fixed back up.” 

“Leave it,” Cas muttered. “I don't want to get up.” Even thought Dean knew that, rightfully, he probably should have had a shower, he was more than down with the plan of staying in bed for the rest of the night. Besides, his sheets were already filthy with sweat and cum so he used them to clean off his stomach and both of their hands before he tossed them onto the floor. Castiel looked like he was already on the verge of sleep and truthfully, Dean couldn't blame him. Without a doubt, it had been the best sex he'd had in fucking years (possibly ever) and on top of that, all of the previous excitement of the day was starting to add up. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet but it had been a long goddamn day and before he knew it, he was yawning embarrassingly wide, shoving his face into the pillow so that he didn't look so ridiculous. 

“You're not going to write this into your next book, are you?” He didn't quite know where the thought had come from but he blurted it out before he could think it over properly. Cas propped himself up on one elbow and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, lightly gnawing on the corner of his lip. 

“I don't think so,” he said finally, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I don't want to share this with anybody.” 

“I like that answer,” Dean murmured, sitting up so that he could lean over and kiss the smile on Castiel's lips. This time, there was no denying the goddamn insects that had taken up residence in his stomach so instead, he embraced them. He wasn't sure if he wanted to spend too much thinking about what they were an indication of but they could only lead to good things. Straightening up properly, Cas wove his fingers through Dean's hair and if Dean had been even four years younger, he was pretty sure that simple action would have been enough to make him ready for round two. As it was, the best his cock could do was twitch, an action that didn't get by Castiel, who merely smirked at him when he pulled away. 

“To be young again,” he murmured, falling back against the pillows. 

“Yeah, if only.” Dean got up long enough to turn off the light before he crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest. Castiel had his back to him and although Dean generally wasn't one for cuddling, he couldn't resist the urge to slide over until his mouth was pressed against the back of Cas' neck, fingers running over the design inked into his shoulder blades. 

“Next time, I want you on your hands and knees,” he murmured, pressing a single kiss to the top of Castiel's spinal cord. “I want to trace this with my tongue.” Cas moaned quietly but it was obvious that he was right on the precipice of sleep so Dean merely kissed him again before rolling over to his own side. His phone was sitting on the nightstand and though he was pretty damn exhausted himself, he felt that he needed to tell somebody what had happened. When he went into his texting log, Jess was the first conversation and he propped himself up so that he could type, squinting in the florescent light of the screen. 

_So, I might have just gotten lucky with your favorite author ;)_ The response came only a minute or so later and although the first part made him smile, the second made him curse out loud. 

**congrats Dean! Give him a kiss for me. Btw, I just got lucky with your brother, no might about it. ;)**

_Jess, I really didn't wanna know that._

**I thought we were tradin sex stories. Srry.** He rolled his eyes and told her to say hi to Sammy before he put his phone down, his eyes threatening to close whether he was done or not. He punched the pillow into a comfortable shape (he was pretty sure that Cas was actually using his) and as soon as his head got comfy, he was asleep.


	21. you take the breath right out of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So as you may have seen, there are only a few chapters remaining in the story and the last few chapters are pretty short, relatively speaking. I just wanted to take this time to say that I really appreciate all of the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions. They really do mean a lot to me. <3
> 
> Title comes from the song [Breath](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCYfw2CyUdA) by Breaking Benjamin.

Dean woke up in the morning to Cas brushing his hair away from his face, his fingers just barely ghosting against his skin. Cas was so focused on his task that it was only when Dean pressed his cheek up against Castiel's palm that he jumped, smiling sheepishly like he was a cat who'd gotten caught eating a bird. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

“Hey, don't have to apologize. Was kinda nice, actually,” Dean replied. Truthfully, he wouldn't have minded waking up to that every day but he wasn't going to voice that thought quite yet; even if he'd had (mind blowing) sex with Cas the night before, their status was still kind of up in the air. Usually, he was fine with that, didn't mind uncertainty but this was different. There was a tinny beep coming from the other side of the bed and Cas rolled over, his arm flinging over the side of the bed and hitting the floor, judging by the loud thud. He came back up with his phone in hand and he flicked it open, running a hand through his hopelessly messy (and very attractive) hair. 

“Good morning Anna,” he yawned. The blanket was bunched around his waist and Dean had to try very hard to deny the urge to rip it off of the bed entirely. Although he could hear Anna's voice coming from the speaker, he couldn't pick out individual words so while Cas was having that conversation, Dean decided to check his own phone. There was one missed call from Bobby and he managed to get himself out of bed, into a pair of boxers and into the kitchen, both so that Cas could have some privacy and so that he could call the old man back. The kitchen was much cooler than his bedroom but thankfully, the smell of burned pizza had vacated the premises. He shut the oven and the window before dialing Bobby's number, simultaneously glancing through his fridge to see what he could conjure up for breakfast. 

“Took you long enough to get up,” Bobby grumbled as an answer. 

“Well good morning to you too,” Dean replied, not phased by Bobby's orneriness. “What did you want?” 

“Just to tell you that they're starting production back up tomorrow. Everyone has to go back to work and that includes you. Surprised Zachariah hadn't told you yet.” 

“He hadn't.” Although Dean had known that he'd have to go back to work eventually, the mere thought left a conflicted feeling in his brain. On one hand, he needed a job; on the other hand, he felt like even returning to that environment would have served as a betrayal to Castiel, who he could hear padding down the hallway, having seemingly wrapped up his phone call. 

“I'll be there Bobby. See you later.” He hung up and dropped his phone on the counter, running a hand through his hair. Castiel stepped into the kitchen, shirtless and still in bare feet but with his trousers from the previous night on. The beautiful smile had vanished from his face and despite his state of undress, he looked like he'd reverted back to Mr. Milton mode. This was going nowhere good. 

“Dean,” he said quietly, stepping up to the counter so that he could lean against it beside Dean. Nothing came after that; his tongue poked out to lick his lips and his mouth opened and closed a number of times but no words came out. 

“You gonna spit it out or what?” Dean asked, trying and failing to inject levity into his words. With each second that passed, his day was just sliding from bad to worse. 

“I'm leaving,” Cas finally blurted out, his gaze directed at the tiles of Dean's kitchen floor. “Later today. My flight leaves this afternoon.” 

“Oh.” It was such a useless word but what the hell else was he supposed to say? Part of him had known (or at least expected) that Castiel wasn't going to stick around, especially not after the glory and glitz of the studio had essentially screwed him over. But he also hadn't been expecting him to take off so soon; fuck, it hadn't even been twelve hours since they'd slept together. Had it just been meaningless, pointless sex to him? Had it all been a goddamn ruse?

“Did you have this planned yesterday?” he finally managed to ask, annoyed with how hard it was to spit out the words. 

“No, Dean, I didn't.” Cas spun off of the counter so that he was standing in front of Dean, his hands hovering in midair like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. He settled on putting them on the counter on either side of Dean and even that was a risky endeavor; he knew that the author meant well but he still felt caged in.

“That was what Anna was calling about,” he continued. “There was a flight out this afternoon and she asked if I wanted to go home. Dean, I'm sorry but... I can't stay in this town anymore.” He sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against Dean's, hands sliding over the counter until they were resting on the small of Dean's back. “I can't write here, I can't work here, not anymore. This place is ruined for me. I need to go home.” Dean wanted to keep being angry, wanted to react how he knew best; he wanted to swipe a mug off the counter and send it smashing to the floor, wanted to curse and bellow. But Cas was murmuring against his lips, whispering _I'm sorry_ over and over again and Dean surged forward and kissed him hard, cradling his face in his hands. He knew it was the reaction of a child but it wasn't fair, it just wasn't and he was probably kissing Cas unnecessarily harshly but Cas gave as good as he got, pressing Dean back against the counter. He was fairly sure that he was going to have a bruise on the back of his hips, but fuck it. If that was the only reminder he'd have (aside from his memories) that Castiel had been his, for one night, then he'd take all the bruises he could fucking get. 

“You could come with me, if you wanted to,” Cas murmured once he'd pulled away, the words interjected by gasping breaths. Dean hadn't even considered the possibility but even once he'd put some thought into it, he recognized it as a pipe dream. He wanted to leave, lord knew he did; if there was one thing the production of Castiel's novel had done for him, it had completely erased any shred of illusion he may have had regarding the decency of the people in the film business. Sure, there were a few that actually had souls and weren't complete drones (himself included, he liked to think) but they were few and far between. There were so many fakes, so much ass-kissing and soul-sucking and profiteering off of people's misery. He knew it was wearing him down, it had been for a long time. 

But at the same time, he needed the work. Bobby's influence practically guaranteed that he always had a job and as long as he had a job, Dean could keep sending money to Sam, could help his little brother have the life he'd always wanted. And the truth was, he had family in the town; he couldn't just leave them without any notice on a whim. He liked Cas, he really did but he just couldn't do it. 

“I'm sorry,” he sighed, bowing his head so that he didn't have to see the inevitable disappointment in Castiel's eyes. “I can't Cas, I can't just pack up ship and leave. Not so quickly. I can come visit you though, on my day's off. That would work, right?” Castiel's sharp intake of breath told him all that he needed to know and he stepped away from the counter in silence, disappearing back towards Dean's bedroom. As soon as he was gone, Dean reacted, slamming his fist into the counter top hard enough to crack the cheap facade. He knew that his knuckles were going to be bruised but apparently that was just a common denominator between him and Cas. He sank down to sit on the floor, a drop of blood falling from the split skin on his hand. The urge to yell at the top of his lungs was almost overpowering but he managed to hold it back; Cas didn't need to hear that. He didn't deserve to see all that anger, not when he was making a perfectly rational decision that Dean understood completely. 

But still, just because he understood that it was rational didn't mean that he wanted Cas to make it. Speaking of Castiel, he stepped back into the kitchen, fully dressed in his clothes from the previous night, his hands jammed in his trouser pockets. After a minute of standing silently in the kitchen doorway, he knelt down in front of Dean, dropping his hands onto his knees. 

“I will wait for you,” he said quietly and Dean tracked the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “And you can talk to me whenever you want. Don't just cut this off.” 

“What do you mean, _this_?” Dean asked, dropping his hands on top of Cas'. He could feel the ragged skin around his knuckles and all he could think was that Cas was leaving before he'd even restitched his hands. 

“I don't know. But I know what I want it to be. I know that I want you in my life, Dean Winchester, and I will wait for you.” He leaned forward and kissed Dean softly, so soft it could hardly be classified as a kiss at all and then he was gone. Dean could feel his eyes growing uncomfortably warm and damp and he resolutely refused to cry like a goddamn teenage girl on his kitchen floor so he grabbed his phone off the counter and dialed Sam's number, sliding down so that he was lying on his back against the cool tiles. 

“Dean?”

“Heya Sammy. You got a minute?” 

“Got a few. Are you okay?” 

“Um, well. Sort of. I mean." Dean paused to draw in a breath, which was far too shaky for his liking. "Cas is gone, Sammy. He's going back home.” 

“Dude, I'm sorry. Jess mentioned what happened last night and I mean, dude, _really_ didn't need to know that, but I know what he meant to you. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. I just need to be distracted for a bit.” 

“I can do that.”

***

Dean tried to distract himself for the afternoon. He tried steadfastly not to think about the fact that Cas was going to be boarding a plane, that he was going to be gone. It didn't work. There was a knock on his door around six and getting up off of the couch to get it seemed like a feat in itself. Before he could muster up the energy, the door clicked open and Jo was bounding inside, her arms laden with a bag full of Chinese takeout and a six pack of beer.

“Jo, what are you doing here?” he asked, pausing the DVD that he'd been paying minimal attention to. "How'd you even get in?" 

“Sam called Mom, Mom told me and bam, here I am. Oh, and I made a copy of your key months ago.” She dropped the bag of food onto the coffee table, making it creak ominously and set the beer down gently before flopping ungracefully on the couch, purposefully sitting on Dean's outstretched legs. 

“Ow, Jo,” he muttered, tugging his legs out from underneath her. He glanced over at the six pack of beer before looking at Jo, who was smiling mischievously at him. 

“You didn't steal that from your mom, did you?” he asked his cousin, really hoping that it wasn't the answer. When he was sixteen, he'd made the mistake of snatching a bottle of vodka out of the back room of the Roadhouse, sure that Ellen wouldn't notice its absence. She had, of course and Dean could still remember the verbal whomping she'd given him in excruciating detail. 

“No, I'm not stupid,” she said, grabbing a beer out of the cardboard carton and pulling a bottle opener out of her pocket. “Used my fake ID.” 

“You have a fake ID?” 

“Mmhm.” She popped the cap off before passing the still cold bottle over to Dean. “Don't even think about tattling on me, where do you think I learned it from?” She had a point; Dean had been seventeen when he'd gotten his first fake ID made, although lord knew he'd been sneaking drinks years before that. Jo repeated the actions with her own beer and they took the first sip together. It wasn't the kind Dean usually bought but beer was beer so he took another swig, wiping away the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“So, you wanna talk about Cas?” Jo prompted, nudging him with her elbow. 

“Not really,” he muttered, unpausing the DVD so that they had some form of background noise. 

“Well tough, Dean. You're gonna tell me what happened because otherwise you're going to mope around all day or come to the bar and do something stupid and you aren't allowed to do that.” 

“Says who?”

“Says Mom. She told me you're not allowed in the Roadhouse until you tell me what happened.” Although Dean did have the urge to consume quite a bit of strong alcohol, he knew exactly what Ellen was referring to when she'd said "do something stupid". He'd done it before, had used casual sex with strangers as a way of distracting himself from whatever problems were happening in his life but that thought hadn't even occurred to his brain. Meaningless sex wasn't going to distract himself from Castiel; hell, even if they hadn't been anything official, it was too close to cheating to suit him and if there was one thing he didn't do, it was cheat on someone. 

“He left, Jo. S'that simple,” he said, reaching for the bag of takeout. “He went back home so he could write. I'm fine with it, really.” 

“Oh for God's sake Dean, don't pull that bullshit on me,” Jo said, snatching the bag of food back out of his hand. “You're a shitty liar.” 

“When did you start swearing so much?” he asked, attempting to divert the conversation away from the topic of his relationship with Castiel. 

“Quit it.” He got poked in the side with a chopstick for his trouble. “I'm serious, Dean. I know there's more to the story than that. I could see it when you brought him to the bar. You really liked him, didn't you?” Dean nodded because even if he didn't want to talk about the situation, there was no denying that fact. 

“I thought so. I've seen the way you look at people, Dean and you never looked at any of your one night stands that way. The fact that you're so broken up 'bout this just confirms that.” 

“I am _not_ broken up about it,” Dean retorted. Jo merely raised an eyebrow at him and she had definitely been around him for too long. Even if she wasn't a Winchester, she'd definitely inherited the signature Winchester no tolerance for bullshit policy. 

“Okay, so I'm not exactly happy with the fact, but it's not like I'm bawling, for Christ's sake.” Jo was in the midst of unpacking the Chinese food and Dean took another swig of his beer, coughing as some of it went down the wrong hole. “I'm gonna miss the guy, sure, but it ain't the end of the world.” 

“Never said it was. That would be a lie. Still sucks though, right?” 

“Got that right,” he muttered, accepting the plastic fork that Jo passed him. “Wait. How do you know?” She shrugged, trying to look casual but Dean recognized the gesture all too well; hell, he'd practically taught her that practiced nonchalance. There was a grin threatening to burst out of the corner of her mouth and Dean leaned over until she couldn't look away and he could see her mouth trembling as she tried so very hard not to smile. 

“Okay, fine, there was a guy at school,” she sighed, grinning even as she rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “And he dumped me and trust me, I know that it sucks.” 

“And why didn't I know about this?” 

“Because I knew that this was how you'd react.” From there, the squabble only escalated until Dean got jabbed hard in the ribs with a chopstick and a packet of soy sauce burst open on Jo's shirt. By the time that happened, the DVD Dean had put in had to come to an end so, ignoring the fact that she was covered in soy sauce, Jo commandeered the DVD player, her eyes sweeping along Dean's shelf of movies. 

“Shut your eyes for a minute.” Dean did as he was told, mainly because he didn't want another sharp poke with a chopstick. When he opened his eyes, the opening menu for _Road House_ was on screen and Dean burst out laughing. Jo pushed play and bounced back onto the couch, licking a drop of soy sauce off of her hand. 

“Did you want a new shirt or something?” 

“Nah, not yet. I would like another beer though.”

***

Jo put in another one of his generic action films after _Road House_ had finished but he didn't make it to the ending. The beer had made him sleepy (and maybe, just maybe, the emotional turmoil of the day had played a part) and he fell asleep on the couch, slumping over so that his head was on the armrest. When he woke up to the sound of the alarm on his phone going off, the DVD player was playing the obnoxious menu music of the movie, Jo's feet were plunked firmly into his lap and the roof of his mouth felt like he'd taken sandpaper to it. All in all, he felt pretty damn gross.

What a great day to go back to work. 

He managed to wiggle himself free from Jo, who only snorted and rolled over so that she was on her side, rather than on her back. She didn't show any sign of waking up any time soon so he dropped the blanket from his bed on her before he took a shower. He spent the least amount of time possible in his bedroom; although it had been almost two days since the incident, the room still vaguely smelled like sex and Dean felt far too nostalgic about it. So he dragged his clothes back to the bathroom, got dressed and left Jo asleep on the sofa with a twenty dollar bill on the coffee table so that she could get breakfast. 

The drive to the studio seemed to be even more aggravating than usual. Traffic was backed up, the humidity was nearly choking and on top of it all, his AC/DC mixtape was still in the tape deck. While he usually would have blasted the music in order to keep himself from getting rampant road rage, he ejected it and tossed it into the back seat. 

This nostalgia thing was really becoming a pain in the ass and it wasn't even seven o'clock in the morning yet. 

Bobby was just pulling into a parking space when he got there and if he looked closely, Dean was pretty sure that there was still flakes of paint stuck in his beard. He grunted a greeting to him and started the trek towards Stage C. Despite the fact that he had brushed his teeth, he could still taste beer in the back of his mouth and he definitely needed to get a coffee as soon as he was inside. 

“Jo still at your place?” Bobby asked, lifting up his baseball cap and scratching his head before replacing it again. 

“Yep. Don't think she'll be moving for awhile. I left her some money for breakfast, I can go check on her around lunchtime if you want.”

“Nah, she'll be fine.” Dean knew that Bobby was trying to avoid the subject, the elephant in the room and as awkward as it made their interactions, he really hoped that Bobby kept on avoiding it. His uncle was even worse with emotions than he was and to this day, Dean found it miraculous that Ellen had been able to put up with him for the years they'd been married for. 

“Listen, Dean-”

“Bobby, don't,” he interrupted, not stopping his stride. Stage C was in sight and if Dean sniffed hard enough, he was pretty sure that he could smell coffee. “Just don't.” 

“Fine by me.” Bobby actually sounded relieved and Dean couldn't really blame him. He slipped inside the cavernous building, grabbed his communications set and made a beeline for the crafts services table, the smell of coffee only getting stronger until it was all he could focus on. He had just procured himself a cup when his radio went off and he took a massive gulp, nearly burning his tongue. He was not nearly caffeinated enough to deal with Zachariah. 

_“Winchester! I wasn't sure if you were going to come back or not!”_

“Well, I'm here sir, let's leave it at that. Where do you want me to start?” 

_“Need you to go get Ms. Cassidy out of her trailer so they can start.”_

“Fine.” He downed the rest of the coffee as fast as he could before weaving his way through the studio to the back door. There was music blaring from Ruby's trailer and he just really, really hoped that she wasn't going to be in a horrible mood because even loaded up on coffee, he couldn't deal with her bullshit. He rapped hard on the door and it flew open, just narrowly missing him as it swung outwards. Ruby was half in her costume; she had on the knee-high leather boots with dark jeans tucked into them but she was only wearing a thin tank top on her torso. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun and there was a slash of concealer under her eyes. 

“What do you want, Winchester?” she hissed, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I'm supposed to come get you so they can start filming,” he said, looking past her into her trailer. 

“I'll get there when I get there, tell them to calm down.” Her facial expression suddenly changed; her scowl morphed into a smug smirk and she leaned against the door frame, the toe of her boot tapping against the floor. 

“Mr. Milton isn't here to protect you anymore,” she said slowly, her smirk getting even larger. “So you better watch yourself, Winchester.” 

“Oh, fuck off Ruby.” He hadn't really meant to say the words out loud but once they were out, he couldn't really find it in himself to regret them. He'd been waiting so long for somebody to say them and if that meant he had to be the first, well, so be it. For her part, it looked like it had been the first time someone had said that to Ruby in her entire life; her jaw had actually dropped open and she was staring at him like he had the plague. He left her like that, turning his back and walking back towards the soundstage. It was only when he reached the door that she let out a godawful screech before there was a massive bang as the door of her trailer slammed shut. He had absolutely no idea why she hadn't tried to claw his eyes out this time around but maybe the shock was simply too great. 

He spent the next three hours suspecting that he was going to be fired (and truthfully, maybe that had been why he'd done it in the first place) but he heard nothing, neither directly or through the grapevine. Ruby finally made it to the set around eight o'clock and after that, Zachariah had him busy performing every menial task he could think of. His phone vibrated a few times in his pocket but it wasn't until nearly two o'clock in the afternoon, when his stomach was growling and Zachariah had finally laid off, that he had time to check it. There was a gibberish text from Jo, which he assumed meant that she was hungover and/or exhausted (probably both), one from Sammy asking how he was doing and underneath that were two, one from each of the Milton siblings that he hadn't slept with. Gabriel's was one line, just a quick _sorry man_ and Dean quickly deleted it. Anna's on the other hand was quite long and Dean waited until he was sitting down before he read it properly. 

_Dean i'm sorry things turned out the way they did. I know what you're probly thinking but my brother does like you... more than like, actually, but don't tell him I said that. I know it hurts. If you need to talk call me._

He read through it twice, trying desperately to compose a response in his head. Both times failed and finally, he just settled on a succinct **thanks Anna, appreciate it** before he flipped his phone shut and went back to eating his lunch. 

It was one of the longest days he'd ever worked; he didn't get off until after nine in the evening and just making it back to the Impala was a feat in itself. His limbs were heavy, his eyes were sore and his temple had decided to start aching around six o'clock and hadn't stopped since. When he got back to his apartment, Jo was gone but she had cleaned up their mess from the night before. He made it to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then he collapsed on the sofa, steadfastly ignoring the fact that his bed was way comfier and way less likely to leave vicious kinks in his neck. He flicked on the television to some procedural cop drama and was half asleep when his phone buzzed, trapped in the pocket of his jeans, which were now sitting on the floor. He groped over the edge of the couch until he could fish it out and stared at the text he'd received, his brain swimming with conflicting emotions. 

_I made it home. I've missed it here. I miss you._

Dean was too damn exhausted to even begin to think of how to respond to that. He fell asleep with his phone still in his hand and when he woke up, it was squished against his face, the tinny alarm blaring in his ears. He quickly fumbled at the screen, wiping the drool off the casing and when he finally managed to turn the alarm off, Castiel's text was still open, staring him in the face. Though he was still exhausted, his thoughts were more coherent than the night before and, rolling over onto his back, he typed out a quick message with both hands. 

**Miss you too Cas.**


	22. I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! I hope you all had a lovely weekend! I had an idea earlier today about a little bonus thing I might add after the last chapter of this story; that being, I was thinking of writing what the back of Castiel's book would say if it were real. It's just an idea for now so I'll let you know if I actually write it. Anyways, in te meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3
> 
> Chapter title from [Nicotine](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YmBOI3_m7Gs) by (you guessed it) Panic! At the Disco.

That day at work was much the same as the previous one. Ruby, apparently, had decided to keep his transgression to herself but every time she saw him, she glared knives in his general direction. Thankfully, Zachariah kept him plenty busy, fetching smoothies and costume racks and duct tape and actors from their trailers. In his downtime, he helped Bobby out however he could. 

Without Castiel's presence, the production did seem to be going a little smoother. The director didn't yell nearly as much and when Dean saw him, he always had a (rather creepy) smile on his face, whether he was talking to one of the executives on the phone or consulting with one of his underlings. It also seemed like the shooting was getting done a lot quicker; by the end of Dean's second day back on set, they were almost ready to start shooting the exterior shots of the film's climatic scene: the final battles between the angels and the demons. Although he also felt pissed that the studio had changed the ending, he had to admit there was one good thing about it: with the angels winning, it meant that Ruby's character was going to die. 

He was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to be so happy about that notion. 

However, despite the fact that the production was going more smoothly, as the days went by, the job grated away at Dean. His tolerance for bullshit and fake people was non-existent; on more than one occasion, he'd had an extremely difficult time not telling Zachariah to go fuck himself, especially when he made him drive halfway across the fucking city to go pick up food for another executive meeting. By the time he reached his next day off, he felt like a spring that had been pulled too tight. He spent most of his night at the Roadhouse, throwing back beer after beer. There were a few cute people throughout the bar, all of them newbies that Dean hadn't seen before. There was a guy standing near one of the pool tables with messy black hair and his jeans slung low on his hips and if Dean squinted just a bit, his eyes looked kind of blue in the dim light. 

But no, that was stupid. He wasn't going to do that, no matter how miserable he was. Instead, he ordered a whiskey on the rocks and by the time he finished that, he was so drunk that bringing someone home wasn't even a thought in his mind, let alone a viable option. Before he could order anything else, Ellen grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and literally dragged him into the back room, dropping him onto the folded up couch. He was vaguely aware that he was saying something to her but his brain and his mouth weren't communicating very well and before he could ponder things any further, he passed out. 

When he woke up in the morning, the first thing he realized was that there was a bucket beside the couch that hadn't been there the night before. The second thing he realized was that he was about to throw up. He hadn't been this hungover in literally years and he hadn't missed it one bit. Once he felt okay to stand up, he rinsed the bucket out and stumbled into the main room of the bar, where Ellen and Jo were sitting on the bar stools and eating what looked like McDonald's for breakfast. 

“Figured you'd want something greasy,” Ellen said, shoving a wrapped up sandwich down the bar towards him. He stumbled towards a stool and managed to fumble the yellow wrapping open, scarfing the sandwich down. The grease did serve to settle his stomach a little bit but being able to see all the alcohol in front of him quickly negated the effect of the food. 

“Does anyone know where my phone is?” he asked, searching through the pockets of his pants and coming up empty. Jo pulled it out of the pocket on her apron and slid it down the bar, nearly sending it off the edge. 

“I took it off you last night just before the whiskey,” she said. “You looked like you were about to start drunk texting.” Admittedly, she did have a good point; Dean's thoughts had been venturing towards Castiel and he knew that he probably would have ended up saying either something ridiculous sappy and embarrassing or something cruel that he didn't truly mean. As was, he had three new messages already waiting for him, two of them from Cas. 

_I started writing again today. I thought you might like to know._

_I think I might call you tomorrow. It's boring being here by myself._ The second text made Dean grin like an idiot and he wiped his fingers off on his pants so that he could respond.

**I'll be here all day man. Call me.** He had barely set the phone down on the bar before it was ringing and he nearly fell off his stool in his effort to pick it up again.

“Hello?” There was silence on the other end for a moment and Dean thought that maybe it had been a wrong number and then he heard a sigh, followed by a chuckle. 

“Hello Dean.” Dean was pretty sure that he'd never been so happy over such a simple sentence. He dropped his head down onto the bar, ignoring that Jo and Ellen were staring at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Hey Cas. How are you?” 

“I'm good, Dean. It's... it's nice to hear your voice.” 

“You too.” When he glanced sideways, Jo was scribbling on a napkin and she shoved it towards him, staring at him pointedly. 

**Is that Cas?**

He gave her a thumbs up before sliding off the stool, ignoring how his stomach protested the sudden movement. 

“How's the writing going?” he asked once he was in the back room again, shutting the door behind him. “Are you getting lots done?”

“Not really. To be honest, I've been spending more time looking out the window than at my computer. I've missed the view. I... I miss you.” 

“Hey, that rhymed.” He could practically feel Castiel glaring at him down the phone line and he felt like a complete tool. “I've missed you too,” he said. “Work's a lot lamer without you around.” 

“I have to admit, eating lunch is much more boring when you aren't here. I do miss that.” He trailed off and although Dean knew he should have been saying something, he was more than happy to just lay on the sofa, listening to Cas breathing at the other end of the line. 

“Miss a lot of stuff,” Dean sighed, letting his unoccupied arm drop over his face. “I really do.” 

“I believe you.” 

Their conversation was a short one, out of necessity; Dean's phone was on the verge of giving up the ghost and dying and he wanted to say goodbye before it decided to end the call on its own. But, regardless, when he walked back out into the main room of the bar, he was still incredibly hungover but happier than he'd been in a week. Despite the occasional text and Castiel's words to him before he'd left, he'd just assumed that Cas hadn't meant them entirely. Surely, there had to be _someone_ else back home he was interested in, someone who wasn't tied down with a job and an innate stubbornness. But, as he'd realized the very first time they'd spoken, Castiel was no less than one hundred percent honest and the fact that he actually missed Dean made him feel like a goddamn teenager, all nerves and stupid butterflies. Abruptly, he thought back to Anna's last text and as he sat back down on the bar stool, he quickly flicked to it, eyes skimming over it. 

_Dean i'm sorry things turned out the way they did. I know what you're probly thinking but my brother does like you... **more than like, actually, but don't tell him I said that.** I know it hurts. If you need to talk call me. _

There was only one thing Dean could think of that Anna could possibly mean. The thought both terrified him and exhilarated him; it was vaguely overwhelming and Jo and Aunt Ellen were both staring at him again, in that intimidating way that always managed to get an answer out of him. 

“What?” he said, hoping that looking away would make it stop. But that method had never worked and looking at the varied bottles of booze sitting behind the bar just made his stomach churn so he had no choice but to look back at them. 

“You look like you just won a million bucks. Wanna share?” Ellen said. He didn't really know how to vocalize it (thinking of the word love was absolutely terrifying, saying it was nearly unfathomable) so he simply passed his phone over to his aunt, leaving the screen open on Anna's text. Jo peered over her mom's shoulder and when she turned back to look at him, her face was split in half by a ridiculous grin. 

“No wonder you're so damn happy,” she said. “You really got lucky with this guy.” 

“Shut up,” he said, annoyed with how sheepish she sounded. “Even if that is true-”

“It is,” Jo interrupted but Dean ignored her and kept speaking. 

“It's not like I can do anything about it right now. He's hours away and it's not like I can just take off and go see him.” 

“Well, why the hell not?” This time, Ellen was the one inputting and she leaned forward on the bar so that she could see around Jo. “What's stopping you?” 

“Well, let's think,” Dean said, injecting his words with sarcasm. “There's work, there's Sammy, there's you guys, want me to keep going?” 

“Oh for the love of Christ.” Ellen got off her stool and came around so that she was standing beside Dean. “You hate your job, you can still see Sam whenever you need to and we'll be just fine, so long as you come home for holidays and bring him with you. Got any more reasons?” 

“Um... no actually,” he muttered, grabbing his phone out of Jo's hands and tucking it back in his pocket. “You just stabbed holes in all of them.” 

“It's what I do, Dean,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek before she gathered up all of the breakfast wrappings. “I see through bullshit excuses. Speaking of which, Jo, don't you have class in half an hour?” Jo didn't even bother trying to lie; she merely rolled her eyes and slid off of the bar stool, untying her apron and pulling on her sweater from where it was slung over the bar. 

“I was hoping you wouldn't notice,” she grumbled. 

“No chance of that. I'll see you when you get home.” Jo gave her a mom a quick hug before spinning around and giving Dean an even tighter one, making his stomach twitch in a rather unpleasant way. 

“I'm not saying go after him but... no, that's exactly what I'm saying,” she grinned as she pulled away. “Don't be dumb, Dean.”

“Goodbye Jo,” he said pointedly, making her roll her eyes again before she disappeared out the door. He knew that his aunt and his cousin meant well and for once, he didn't want to roll his eyes back. But it wasn't as simple as that. He couldn't just get up and leave, he couldn't. Life wasn't as simple as that and besides, he was too old to make impulsive, spur of the moment decisions. 

That belief was shattered the next day.


	23. everything you've done just turned out right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter left! The next one might take me a little longer to put up because I need to do some serious editing on the ending but it shouldn't take too long. <3
> 
> Title from [Never Walk Alone](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jxs31YX_F_U) by Madina Lake.

When Dean returned to work at six thirty the next day, things were already in high gear. The main drag of the studio was crowded with people streaming back and forth, most of them headed towards the backlot, arms laden down with all sorts of equipment. He had just barely grabbed his walkie talkie when Zachariah was literally screaming down the line, the radio crackling around his voice. 

“ _Winchester!_ ” 

“Can I get some breakfast first?” he asked. The crafts services table was so close that he could smell bacon and his mouth was practically drooling at the prospect. 

“ _No time! Go get Ms. Cassidy, she's in her damn trailer and she was supposed to be on set ten minutes ago._ ” 

“I'll get-”

“ _Now, Winchester!_ ”

“For fuck's sake,” Dean muttered, clipping his walkie to his jeans and heading towards the trailers. It was too goddamn early for this and he was too hungry and his patience was non-existent. There was loud heavy metal music leaking out of the trailer and he considered just skipping over knocking and telling Zachariah that she hadn't answered. But although she had yet to say anything to anybody about his outburst, he knew that she was just waiting for him to slip up again. She was biding her time, waiting until he screwed up again and then she'd have him by the balls for life. He wasn't about to repeat his mistakes so, steeling himself, he knocked on the door, slamming his open palm against the thin metal so that there was no doubt about him being heard. Ruby opened the door, fully dressed, looking ready for battle, followed by her makeup artist. 

“Winchester,” she muttered, storming past him with the music still blaring behind her. Her makeup artist smiled at him apologetically as she followed along behind, cradling a box nearly the size of a suitcase in her arms. By Ruby standards, her reaction (or rather, her lack of one) had been extremely tame; she must have been distracted by other things but Dean wasn't going to complain. He didn't know if it was just the frantic mood of everyone in sight or something else but he could feel tension itching underneath his skin. Even if he didn't like Ruby, he had to appreciate her not making his day any worse. 

“Ms. Cassidy is on her way,” he radioed back to Zachariah, crossing his fingers that he'd be able to make it back to the crafts services table before he was allotted another task. No such luck. 

“ _Well thank Christ for that. Now I need you to find a pressure washer, there's some fake blood stained on the sets back here and it's not coming off._ ” 

“Where in the hell am I supposed to find one of those?”

“ _I don't know, apply yourself for fuck's sake!_ ” Dean knew that Zachariah was probably under a massive amount of stress and pressure from his superiors but his attitude was really not helping with the issue of Dean's patience. He had no idea where the fuck he was supposed to find a pressure washer but he hit up Stage B first, jogging across the main drag and wishing that he had a damn golf cart. One of the PA's in B told him to try A and by the time him and another PA hunted down a damn washer in one of the unused boardrooms in Stage A, he was panting and extremely pissed off by the unreasonable request. After all, people had been working on the sets for days; had it not occurred to any of them to get rid of the fake blood _before_ filming was supposed to start?

And then there was the goddamn mile long trek to the backlot. The machine was definitely over fifty pounds empty and although it had wheels on the bottom, they were so rusted that they refused to turn. Since the other PA had fucked off almost as soon as they'd found it, Dean had to fill the thing with water and drag it all the way to the backlot. By the time he finally got it to the damn street set, he was pretty that there was at least an inch of sweat caked to his back. 

“Winchester, what took you so damn long?” Zachariah's face and head were both a rather vivid shade of red, although Dean couldn't tell if it was from sunburn or anger. 

“I had to find the damn thing!” he exclaimed, shoving it towards Zachariah. He knew that he should have been more cordial but it was fucking _hot_ and he still hadn't gotten any food and like always, the majority of the people swarming around him were running around like chickens with their heads cut off and weren't actually doing anything useful. Fuck, as far as he could tell, Zachariah wasn't even doing anything; he was simply standing in the middle of the fake street, barking orders. 

“Well, you should have been quicker,” he muttered and Dean had a very vivid image of him punching the shorter bald man square in the face. “Now get me a damn smoothie! Strawberry banana, pump of-”

That was all it took for Dean to snap. Midway through Zachariah's order, he turned and started walking the other way, head held high, hands clenched into fists at his side. Even though he was only barely managing to suppress the urge to tackle Zachariah to the ground, he also felt like the weight of the world had fallen off of his shoulders. Although he knew that the anger and regret at having made such an impulsive, stupid decision was going to hit in only a few hours, for the moment, he felt like he was on top of the goddamn world. 

“Winchester, where the hell are you going?” Zachariah yelled from behind him. 

“Get your own fucking smoothies!” Dean hollered back over his shoulder, raising his middle finger in a salute. “I fucking quit!” He heard a whoop of joy coming from somewhere behind him, followed by an indignant screech of _shut the fuck up_ from Zachariah. Ahead of him, Bobby was doing an last minute sanding job on one of the house facades and when he looked at Dean, he turned off the sander, pulling the breathing mask off of his face. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice much louder than the environment called for. Dean was pretty sure that the old man was going to go deaf sooner rather than later if he didn't start wearing damn earplugs when he worked. 

“Home,” he replied and based on the look on Bobby's face, he quickly figured out what exactly Dean had meant. He gave Dean a quick thumbs-up before he went back to his work. If it had been a movie, Bobby would have laid down his sander and followed Dean along and everyone would have staged a walkout and it all would have been a big fuck you to the system. But Bobby turned back to his sander and Dean didn't resent him in the least for it. Bobby needed a job and he'd found something that he was good at. Besides, he hadn't had to fetch Zachariah a smoothie every goddamn day so Dean completely understood why he wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon. 

But he was done. He was done with these bullshit people and their bullshit system. He was done with watching people trying to use other people's suffering to climb to the top, tired of people caring more about the money they raked in than the product they put out. He was sick of working on shitty movie sets with shitty people. He liked movies, that wasn't ever going to change, but working on them? He was pretty sure that he had reached the end of his career in the movie business. 

It felt beyond bizarre to be getting back home at noon and almost as soon as he entered his apartment, the sensation of regret started to churn in his stomach. How was he supposed to fill his empty hours now? How was he going to pay the rent on his apartment? How was he going to send Sammy money if he didn't have a job? The questions just kept coming and coming and finally, he called his brother, hoping that Sam wasn't going to be in class. Thankfully, he picked up the phone but based on his hushed tone, he was in the library. 

“Dean, I can't talk long, is everything okay?” he whispered and Dean was pretty sure that he heard someone hiss _sssh_ in the background. 

“Yeah Sammy's, everything's good,” he said. “Well sort of. I quit.” 

“Holy shit, you actually quit?” There was a loud scraping noise and he could hear Sam rustling, presumably as he got up from his desk. “Congrats, man. Only took you long enough. What are you gonna do now?”

“I haven't quite figured that out yet,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I'm gonna have to find a new job, eventually. Just... feels so weird, y'know?' 

“I bet. Listen, I gotta go or they're gonna kick me out of the library. But I'm happy for you Dean. You didn't deserve to be stuck in that shitty job.” 

“Me and you both, Sammy.” He hung up and looked over at the clock. Less than five minutes had passed and he didn't want to head on over to the Roadhouse too early, especially since Aunt Ellen was probably at home and Jo was most likely in class (or skipping, but he wouldn't tell her mom that). Instead, his thoughts turned to Castiel. At the time that he left the studio, he hadn't even been thinking about Cas but he realized that, in some indirect way, his decision to quit had probably actually been due to the author. Over the years, he'd seen lots and lots of people, from budding actors and actresses to other crew members, get screwed over by the business but it had never happened to one of his friends, to someone he'd actually been close with. Watching Castiel's story be completely destroyed had been the final straw and although it had put him out of a job, he was also sure that it was one of the best things that ever happened to him. It had been the catalyst to getting him away from something he no longer enjoyed. Now, he could go back to simply enjoying films, rather than them being his life and livelihood. 

First though, there was something he had to do.


	24. whether near or far, I am always yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. I cannot believe that this is the last chapter! I just want to thank every single last one of you who read, commented, left kudos, bookmarked or subscribed. The response to this was absolutely amazing and you are all so, so kind. I hope you enjoyed the journey and once again, thank you so, so much. <3
> 
> Chapter title from [The End of All Things](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSWIfX_MNCY) by (yep) Panic! At The Disco. Personally, I think it is the perfect song to sum up this last chapter. <3

It was only as Dean began to text Anna that he realized he had absolutely _no_ idea where Castiel actually lived. They'd talked about his cabin on more than one occasion but its actual location had never been brought up. Thankfully, she replied almost instantaneously with an address and when Dean searched it online, he was even more thankful that it was in a small town in the northern part of the state. Sure, the drive would still take over twelve hours, what with traffic and pit stops but it was better than being on the other side of the goddamn country because flying was not something Dean liked to do under any circumstances, even if it made the trip a hell of a lot shorter.

While he debated on putting off his visit for a few days, in the end, he figured that there was no time like the present to leave. Besides, if he put it off for too long, he knew that he was bound to lose his nerve and after his triumphant departure from his job, he didn't really want to lose that wave of confidence that he was still cresting on. 

So after a night where he slept fitfully at best, he left at six o'clock in the morning, armed with a travel mug full of black coffee, his AC/DC mixtape and Anna's promise that she wouldn't tell Cas that he was coming. Dean didn't know why he was so determined to keep it a surprise; he supposed it may have had something to do with the romcoms he'd watched in the past but that was a fact he was trying his best to ignore. He went through the mixtape at least a dozen times, only stopping to get gas and food, fingers restlessly tapping against the steering wheel as he drove through small town after small town. 

All in all, the drive took over thirteen hours and when he finally reached the address Anna had given him, slowly cruising down the wood bordered road so that he didn't miss the driveway, he was just about ready to fall asleep. The sun was beginning to go down and the sky was aglow with a beautiful mixture of red and orange and pink. Castiel hadn't been kidding about the view. Once Dean found the long driveway, he cruised up it, taking his time to gaze around. The trees that surrounded the rutted driveway reached up towards the sky, all different shapes and sizes, leaning over the driveway so that long shadows striped the way in front of the Impala. 

When Dean finally reached the one-story cabin, he parked and just took a moment to take in his surroundings. There was a small pond off to one side with what looked like a hand made bench beside it, facing a clump of trees. The cabin itself looked old, like it had been sitting in the small clearing for years. If there had been any staining on it at some point, it had been stripped away by the weather. There was a nondescript, beige sedan parked by the steps and Dean couldn't help but snort; the damn vehicle was _so_ Castiel. 

The ground crunched underneath his boots as he stepped outside, grabbing his duffel bag from the back seat before he slammed the door behind him. There was a light on in the window and as Dean walked towards the small porch, he could see a shadow pass it. He had just reached the first step when the door flew open and yes, his breath _may_ have hitched when he took in Cas standing in the doorway. He was barefoot and wearing a gray pair of sweatpants that were sitting low on his hips, along with a rumpled white t-shirt that Dean suspected he'd bought in a pack from Walmart. His hair was messy and tousled, like he'd just woken up and he looked so different, so _relaxed_. Dean dropped his duffel on the porch and met him halfway, arms wrapping around Cas' waist and pulling him into a kiss that felt hard enough to bruise. It'd only been a few weeks but it'd still been too goddamn long. Castiel's fingers were biting into his back and when he pulled away, he was mouthing at the curve of Dean's jaw, kissing him like it was the last thing he was going to do.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” he asked between kisses, hands clutching the lapels of Dean's leather jacket. Dean had his hand twisted in the hem of Castiel's thin shirt, exposing the skin above the waistband of his sweats and he really wanted to drop to his knees and leave bruises along that line of pale, flawless skin. 

“I quit,” he said, trying to get his breathing back to normal, which was easier said than done seeing as Cas was now punctuating his kisses with nips. “I quit, Cas.” 

“You did?” Cas took a step back and Dean could read the emotions in his face, could see what appeared to be concern etched into the lines around his eyes. “Why?” 

“Cause I didn't want to do it anymore. I was sick of people bossing me around, of getting treated like crap all fucking day. Besides...” He trailed off so that he could leave a string of wet kisses up the side of Castiel's neck, making the other man tighten his grip on his jacket. 

“I missed you,” he said simply, pressing his nose against Castiel's pressure point and shrugging like it was no big deal. “'Sides, you kind of got my expectations up about this place.” 

“Is it what you hoped for?” Cas asked, turning his gaze towards the front yard. Dean turned around to view the landscape scene from his new vantage point and the entire scene really was as beautiful as Castiel had led him to believe. He could see how such a place would easily lend itself to inspiration. He personally thought the Impala made the whole picture that much better and truthfully, at least for the time being, he didn't miss the city one bit. He wasn't delusional; he knew that he'd have to return to LA eventually but, although he couldn't be sure yet, he suspected that when he did return, it would only be to pack up his apartment (and visit the Roadhouse, of course). 

“It's gorgeous.” He turned back to Cas and swallowed, ready to unleash the line he'd been thinking about the entire way up. 

“So, I don't suppose you know anyone 'round here whose looking to hire a mechanic?” he asked, slinging his duffel back over his shoulder, aware that he was grinning like a giant doofus. 

“I'm not sure,” Cas said and although his voice sounded completely level and serious, he was still smirking, clear blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Dean was almost positive Cas had picked that mannerism up from him but that was a two-way street; Cas had definitely worn off on him, no doubt about it. He didn't think that it was entirely a bad thing. 

“I, however, am looking for a research assistant,” he said casually, taking Dean's wrist and pulling him through the front door. The cabin was cozy on the inside, with one main room that was a combination of living room and kitchen. There were two doors leading off of the main area, presumably to Castiel's bedroom and a bathroom. There were no less than six bookshelves lining the walls, all but one of them full right to the brim with a combination of leather bound tomes and what looked like the cheap paperbacks that were usually bought at airports. As he'd predicted, Cas had a desktop rather than a laptop and it was set up right beside one of the large windows that looked out into the backyard. While there was no television, there _was_ a fireplace and although it wasn't in use at the moment, Dean was pretty sure that he was completely won over. 

After all, he could always bring his own tv, if Cas was willing to let him stay.

“Well, research isn't really my thing,” he belatedly replied, dropping his bag onto the floor beside the door and pulling Cas back into his arms. He ran a hand through his dark hair, making it even more mussed up and Cas arched into his fingertips, sighing quietly. “I can try my hardest though.” 

“Well then, the job is yours.” Castiel's voice had gotten even lower and it made electricity dance through Dean's nerves. He couldn't believe that the man standing in front of him, looking at him with eyes so gorgeous they should have been illegal, hadn't always been in his life. It'd been only a few months before that he'd been a complete stranger, that he'd just been Mr. Milton and nothing more. Everything had changed; Dean supposed that it'd all changed a little quicker than he'd expected but he had absolutely zero regrets. 

“We should kiss on it,” he said solemnly but before Cas could lean in completely, Dean pulled away, grinning. He knew that Anna had told him not to say anything about what Cas had revealed to her but he just couldn't help himself. He figured it was a good idea to bring it up before they got too distracted with other, extremely enjoyable things. 

“So, Anna told me you liked me,” he said, smirking. Cas just stared at him, his head tilting in confusion, brow furrowed and _there_ was the Mr. Milton Dean remembered. 

“I thought that was obvious,” he mumbled and Dean was pretty sure that it shouldn't have been possible for a puzzled grown man to be so adorable.

“Well, yeah, it was,” he clarified, “but she also said that you... more than liked me.” After a moment, recognition sparked in Castiel's eyes and he looked down at the ground, letting go of Dean's hip so that he could rub the back of his neck. 

“She was telling the truth,” he said, looking back up after a moment of worrying silence. “But she told me she wouldn't say anything.”

“Yeah, family like to lie about stuff like that. So-” 

“Dean Winchester, so help me God, if you say one more word, I will throw you out that door,” Castiel growled, stepping forward and pinning Dean against the wall. “Please, just kiss me.” 

“I can do that.” 

They didn't manage to make it to the bedroom and it was only afterwards, when he was lying on the couch with Castiel on his chest, that Dean realized that he'd forgotten once again to trace his lips over the intricate design of Castiel's tattoo. Castiel nuzzled his nose against his jaw, mouth dragging along a hickie that he'd sucked into the thin skin of Dean's throat and Dean sighed happily, adjusting his arm so that it didn't fall asleep. Cas murmured _love you Dean_ into the stubble on his throat and Dean dropped a kiss into his tousled hair, inhaling sharply.

"Love you too," he said. It felt so strange to hear the words coming out of his mouth but once they were out in the air, he felt like all the tension leeched out of his muscles at once. It was the most extraordinary, mindboggling feeling in the world and just for the hell it, he said the words again and although Cas didn't reply, Dean could feel the sleepy grin he pressed against Dean's clavicle. 

The sun had disappeared below the treeline while they'd been busy, plunging the cabin into darkness aside from the faint glow of Castiel's computer screen. Castiel was passed out in mere moments and after the long drive (and the long bout of fucking _amazing_ sex), Dean knew that he was right behind him. He adjusted his legs so that Cas' knees weren't pressed into them and before he closed his eyes, he moved his hand so that it was resting in the middle of Castiel's shoulder blades, right where his two wings met. Although he couldn't see them, he had a general idea of their outline and so, tilting his head so that it was resting on Castiel's, he let his eyes droop closed, fingers slowly whisking back and forth over the inked up skin on his back. 

It didn't matter that he'd forgotten (once again) to trace over the intricate lines. He had all the time in the world to make up for it.


End file.
